Set Up
by dferveiro
Summary: Now complete! Nick's handed a murder case and everything points to one beautiful suspect. But his gut tells him something's not right, and it's not just because the accused is attractive. Focus is on Nick and his caselots of mystery, angst and action!
1. Solo

**Set Up**

a/n: This story will be very different from "Distraction," in pace and content. But I hope you all like it anyway.

**Solo**

Nick looked at his pager and frowned. It was Grissom. It was odd that the man was paging him when Grissom knew Nick was at the crime scene, still processing.

But he called his boss. He often wondered why they had pagers when cell phones were a bit more immediate. He shrugged that thought off.

"Grissom, it's Nick," he said. He heard stress in his supervisor's voice, which was somewhat entertaining to Nick.

"Nick. I need you on a DB at an office in Henderson," Gil said. "Tell Warrick he can finish where you're at."

"Okay," he said.

"Nick," Grissom said with a stern edge. "You're solo on this." The call ended, and Nick was left a bit stunned and elated as he stood in the middle of a crime scene.

Slowly a grin crept over his face.

* * *

The office building was a decent 18-story structure of glass and steel. Nick glanced up, noting the reflections of the city lights bouncing off the building.

Detective Vega spotted him from the entrance and waved him inside.

"Hey," Nick said.

"Glad you could make it," Vega said. "Grissom said you guys were swamped as it is." Nick nodded, and tightened his grip on his kit. He followed Vega to an elevator and rode up to the 17th floor.

Once there, Nick immediately felt it: the atmosphere that was just saturated with death. He could always tell when he was near a dead body. There was this tingle or shudder that started through him. That, and it was extremely cold in the room of the crime scene.

The DB was male, age 35 and a rising employee of Phoenix Telecomm. The company occupied the whole floor, but this late at night, the only employee around was the custodian.

Vega moved over to the custodian, while Nick knelt over the body. His suit was soft, and obviously very expensive. Nick looked over the area, trying to notice anything abnormal.

"Christian Patterson," Vega said from behind him.

"You look at his wallet?" Nick asked. Vega shook his head.

"Wasn't on him," he said. "The custodian found him on his nightly cleanup of this office. He's the one who ID-ed Patterson." Nick nodded, and opened his mouth to ask the standard questions, until Vega cut him off. "No, no one moved him or touched him."

Nick let an amused smile appear on his face. He began to open his kit, and collect evidence.

Christian Patterson was stabbed twice, once a clean slice to the side, and the other, a fatal wound to the stomach region. Nick swabbed the blood around the wounds. There was a decent amount of blood, but not as much as Nick would have expected from a bleed-out stab wound. His eyes moved to the man's hands, which were covered in blood.

Nick guessed Patterson clutched his stomach after he was stabbed. But there weren't any defensive wounds.

"He knew his killer," Nick said to himself. "Or he was completely surprised." His eyes continued their search, this time spotting some dirt on the man's shoe. It flaked off a bit too, collecting on the floor. Nick gathered the dirt.

He moved up to the head of the body, leaning close to it as his eyes caught sight of something.

_A hair._It was long and brown. There wasn't a skin tag on it, but Nick bagged it anyway.

"Nick?" He looked up from the body to see David waiting. "You done yet?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah."

* * *

Detective Vega was working on getting the surveillance footage from the office building, while Nick met with Dr. Robbins just after the autopsy.

Nick snapped on the latex gloves and turned to Al.

"Time of death?" he asked first. Al leaned heavily on his cane, and began with his findings.

"Six hours ago," Al said. Nick frowned at that, but let the man continue. "Cause of death was damage to the internal organs, and bleeding out. The second stab was to the upper gastric area."

"Slow way to die," Nick commented.

"Normally, yes," Al said. Nick looked away from the corpse to the doctor. "Notice the size of the wound."

Nick leaned in closer. It was ragged, but nearly round. "What was he stabbed with?" He glanced at the wound on the side of the corpse.

"Knife, probably the same one for the both wounds," Al said. "The stomach wound was forced open. My guess is the blade was twisted after entry."

Nick started to nod slowly as he caught on. "Twist the knife so the wound can't close." He shook his head and sighed. "Sure way to kill someone quicker."

Al raised an eyebrow at the corpse. "Yes. Although, there are quicker ways to kill someone as well."

* * *

Archie had the surveillance tapes cued up and ready to go. Nick slid into a chair by him, and gave the kid a nod.

"Let's start at 7 p.m.," Nick said. "That gives us an hour before the time of death."

The tape moved ahead, showing the elevator and the 17th floor's comings and goings. Most people were going, no doubt calling an end to a long work day. Nick kept his eyes peeled for anything as the tape moved on at a quickened speed, but nothing caught his attention.

The tape sped through four hours of footage. Nick couldn't believe they hadn't seen anything yet. It was impossible that they hadn't caught anything yet.

_What have I missed?_ He was about to tell Archie to rewind and watch the footage again when he saw it.

Or her.

"Archie, hang on."

The tape showed a woman with dark hair exit the elevator and head directly to Christian Patterson's office. Nick's eyes were glued to the screen and time code. Five minutes later, the woman emerged. She moved hurriedly, but not to the elevator. She took the stairs.

"That's odd," Archie said. "Why would someone take the stairs when the elevator works fine?" Nick glared at the image of the woman.

"Because she's involved."


	2. IDed

**ID**-**ed**

Nick ran the woman's picture through various databases, and came up with a hit. It was a driver's license photo, and based on the information with it, the woman was a new resident in Nevada. Her name was Paige Landry, and she was a co-worker of Patterson's.

Nick pulled up to her residence, with Vega just seconds behind him.

Vega knocked on the door, and a tall brown-haired woman answered.

"Yes?" she said, her eyes glancing over the men in front of her.

Nick immediately felt it. Something was off. She was guarded, which wasn't unusual. But as they followed her inside the house, it became more than that.

She didn't argue or act too nervous, but the whole air of her confidence became . . . unnervingly composed. Nick studied her as Vega asked the questions.

"Did you have a relationship with the deceased?" Vega asked. Miss Landry shook her head, that brown hair tossing from side to side.

"Not beyond work," she said. "We've worked together for a few months now." She ran a hand through her hair, pushing back long bangs. Her dark eyes fell on Nick, and he couldn't help but feel there was a smirk in her expression.

"Where were you last night from 7 to 1 a.m.?" Vega asked next. Before she could answer, Nick started thinking.

Why was the time of death and video footage inconsistent? _Are we even on the right potential suspect?_

His gut told him he was—or at least something was up with this woman.

"Dinner with friends and a movie after that," Miss Landry answered. Her fingertips grazed her skin as she tapped them against her chin. Her skin was soft, youthful. She couldn't have been more than thirty years old, if that.

Nick frowned at her.

"You didn't stop by work?" he asked. Landry turned her gaze to him, her eyes directly aimed at his. He felt his heart speed up at her boldness.

"I forgot something," she said simply. "You know I was there; otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"What did you forget that was in Christian Patterson's office?" Nick challenged. She was lying, and everyone knew it.

"Christian and I worked together," she said, cocking her head to the side. "We shared files."

Nick shot a look at Vega, who nodded back.

"Would you be willing to provide a DNA sample voluntarily?" Vega asked. Paige Landry shrugged indifferently.

"Why not."

Nick moved closer to her and reached for her hair. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer hair," he said with a very fake smile. She didn't move a muscle. Nick proceeded to grab a strand and pull hard on it.

She never flinched. Nick examined the hair quickly to make sure he got a skin tag, and then bagged it. He nodded at Vega.

"Thank you for your time," Vega said. The detective and CSI stood to leave.

"Have a good day, Mr. Stokes," Paige Landry said. Nick almost froze at that. She had singled him out, and something about it was . . . He didn't look back, but quickly made his way out of the woman's home.

* * *

He stared at the microscope. The two hairs were a visible match. But he knew it didn't prove much.

_She worked with Patterson. It's feasible that her hair got transferred to his body But her story is as fake as can be._

Paige Landry claimed she scurried back to the office to grab a file near midnight. What couldn't wait until the next morning?

The time issue brought up Nick's doubt of the time of death. He leaned away from the microscopes and braced his weight with his palms against a table. _Why would the time of death be wrong if I'm right about the suspect? Is it even wrong?_

In his mind, he replayed yesterday night in his mind. He remembered the feel of death as he walked out onto the 17th floor. And then the shudders he felt as he walked into the office . . .

_It was cold._

Nick put the hair samples away and quickly left the lab. He sped quickly to the Phoenix Telecomm building.

He flashed his ID a few times and made it to the 17th floor. He paid close attention to the temperature of the rooms.

Patterson's office felt no different from the rest. He felt a surge of disappointment.

"Mr. Stokes," he heard behind him. Nick turned to see the office manager. "Is everything all right?" The man wore a nervous expression on his face, but more so because of the unexpected visit than anything else, or at least that's what Nick suspected.

"No, actually," Nick said, turning back to the office. He moved over to the temperature control for the room. "Did anyone touch these controls recently?" The temperature was set at 72 degrees Fahrenheit.

"Yes, I did." Nick looked up sharply at that. The manager continued. "It was freezing in here, so I raised the temperature to what the office default."

"What was it at before?" Nick asked. The manager frowned, trying to recall the detail.

"It was at . . . 55 degrees, I think," he said. "It's not good for the A/C systems, so I—"

"—raised it," Nick filled in. "Thanks for your time." He left the office quickly and made his way to the elevator.

_That explains the time of death conflict. The temperature was lower in the room, bringing down the body's temp. _

The elevator arrived, and Nick stepped in. He pushed the lobby button and waited for the doors to close.

They were about to, when a hand stopped them. Nick looked to the newcomer.

And saw Paige Landry. She didn't say a word when she recognized him, but simply stepped inside and leaned against the elevator. Nick didn't say anything either. For some reason, he felt it wasn't a good idea.

The ride was long, in Nick's opinion. He glanced over periodically to the woman, but she was never looking back. Yet Nick felt like he was being watched, studied even. It was unsettling, especially from a woman who seemed as beautiful as she was potentially murderous.

_Beautiful?__ Get a grip, Stokes._ He grimaced at himself. _You just found out she could very well have killed Patterson in the revised TOD range, and you're thinking about how attractive she is._

_Damn._ He did it again.

The elevator finally touched down, and Nick quickly stepped out. He heard Landry's footsteps behind him as he made his way out to his SUV. He tried not to focus on it, but the footsteps hadn't deviated, even as he was at his car.

Nick whirled around to see Paige Landry just feet away from him. Her lips were pursed in a dare, and it was then that Nick realized she hadn't stopped her pace. She advanced on him, and Nick had to step away until he had nowhere else to go. His back was up against his SUV, and Paige Landry left only inches between herself and Nick.

Nick felt his pulse race and his breathing stifle. He tried to say something, but suddenly her hand covered his lips.

"Mr. Stokes," she said quietly. Even though it was quiet, her tone commanded respect, and for a brief moment, Nick felt something akin to fear and wonder. "Did you find anything interesting from my hair?"

Nick jerked his head away from her hand, but was painfully aware of how close she was still to his body.

"Miss Landry—"

"Paige," she corrected, a gleam in her eyes.

"P-Paige," he said slowly, his accent drawing out more than usual. "I can't discuss the findings of an ongoing investigation."

She smirked at that, her brown eyes gleaming again at his company line. Nick swallowed.

"That's a round-about way of telling me you don't want to tell me what you found," she said. Her eyes seemed to have found something of interest on his face, and suddenly her fingertips were brushing his cheek. "I'll catch you later."

She turned quickly and strutted gracefully to her own vehicle. Nick just watched her, stunned by the encounter. After a few seconds, he managed to unglue himself from the side of his car.

He sighed and headed back to the lab.


	3. Conclusive

**Conclusive**

Nick's phone rang, interrupting him from studying the dirt from Patterson's shoes. He whipped the phone out, noticing it was Vega.

"Stokes," he answered.

"Nick, it's Detective Vega," the man said. "I've been interviewing Patterson's coworkers, but I'm not turning up anything."

"Nothing fishy?" Nick asked. "What about Paige Landry?"

"She's well-liked, but everyone says she's only been here for a few months," Vega said. "Inter-office gossip points to some tension between the two, but more competitive than romantic."

Nick frowned. It really wasn't much of a lead for motive, but at this point, evidence kept pointing to Landry anyway.

"Can you talk to her, and ask her where she went to dinner?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. I'll pull security tapes and verify her story," Vega said. He hung up, and Nick looked back at the microscope.

"Or invalidate it," Nick said to himself. He leaned back over the scope and studied the dirt. Various minerals were evident, but nothing that stood out too much. Nick separated a sample for Greg to process.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight, and he was beat. Pulling a double wasn't very fun, but he was close to completing a triple shift. The rest of the team seemed just as occupied.

Nick left the lab and drove home. He barely remembered finding his bed before he fell asleep.

* * *

_Paige Landry walked purposefully to Christian Patterson's office. He was on the phone, and merely waved Paige in._

_She closed the door behind her and moved in. She kept the knife at her side. Christian never saw it._

_The first stab was clean but a miss for what her goal was. She quickly withdrew the knife as Christian turned, shocked at what she just did. She merely smiled, that controlling and eerily calm expression that drove fear in the hearts of intelligent men. She lunged forward, stabbing him again, this time in a vital area. _

_Her eyes stared into his pained one, and suddenly she jerked her wrist to the right, twisting the knife as she violently pulled it out._

_Christian never made a sound beyond gurgles of blood and agony. Paige gave him a slight push, so he fell backwards. _

_She smiled again, pocketed the knife, and started to leave._

Nick sat up quickly, gasping as he did.

He hated it when he dreamt of cases. They were living nightmares most of the time, and now they were invading his sleep. He brought his hands to his face, wiping the images from his mind. A tired sigh escaped his lips, but Nick got up anyway.

He evidently never changed before falling asleep. Nick pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes.

_Just a quick glass of water, and I'm going back to sleep._

He guzzled the water and put the glass on his counter. His eyes fell on the microwave's digital clock.

It was late. Well, relatively. It was 4 p.m. He had to get something done today. He decided to abandon sleep and threw off the rest of his clothes to jump in his shower.

He was on his way to work when Vega called.

"Nick," Vega began immediately. "Paige Landry's story doesn't check out. The restaurant surveillance cameras don't show her at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. None of the waiters remember seeing her either," Vega added. Part of Nick was fueled by that, but yet he wasn't sure.

_Evidence, Nick._ "Can you get a warrant?"

"Already got it," Vega said. Nick smiled.

"I'll meet you there."

Paige Landry seemed completely unconcerned at their arrival. She merely stepped aside and let the men in. Vega nodded for Nick to start, while he kept Landry busy. Normally they had an extra officer to unofficially "guard" the resident, but being short-handed, and moving on the dime, Vega got the job.

That was fine by Nick. He had work to do, and it would be a lot easier without Paige Landry eyeing him as he searched.

Nick started with the kitchen—specifically, the knives. He sprayed luminol on all of them. Not surprisingly, a few lit up. Nick swabbed them next, then dabbed the sample on a DNA test strip.

But none of the blood came back as human.

_She could have thrown the knife away._ Nick dug through the kitchen trash, which never was pleasant. But still, nothing. He moved on to the bedrooms.

Paige Landry's home was elegant. It wasn't huge—just a simple 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom home—but her décor was distinctly feminine and classy at that.

However, her bedroom was a bit unkempt. Various clothes and a bag lie around. It looked like Paige—_Miss Landry_—had thrown clothes from her closet to the bag, and missed nearly every time.

"Going somewhere?" Nick said aloud to himself. He started to rifle through the bag, his fingers digging through the soft and colorful fabrics. Suddenly he felt something hard.

Nick split the sea of clothing and saw the handle of a knife. Slowly, he pulled it out, careful not to smudge the handle and the prints he knew were on it.

The blade was clean, but it lit up with the luminol. He tested the blood.

"Human," he said aloud as he studied the DNA strip. He quickly dusted the handle and lifted a full print.

Nick bagged the knife with a smirk, and went to the foyer where Vega and Landry were.

Paige stared at him when he came back. Her eyes focused intently on his, which struck Nick as odd and freaky considering he was holding what he suspected was the murder weapon.

Vega immediately focused on the knife.

"I think you should come with us," he said, taking her by the elbow. Paige Landry flashed her eyes to Nick and back at Vega.

"Sure."

"If you have a lawyer, it might be wise to invite him to join us," Nick added. Paige just smiled sweetly at him.

Nick shook his head as she calmly left with Vega.

* * *

Nick quickly stopped at the lab, dropping off the knife. 

"Greg," he called out, startling the young man from his latest magazine. Nick didn't bother to look at the cover. He handed Greg the knife. "Process, quickly. I need to know if it matches Patterson's blood."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Patterson's blood or the mysterious donor?" Nick frowned.

"What?"

Greg pulled off a sheet of paper from his desk, and handed it to Nick.

"Your swabs from the stab wounds show two different DNAs," Greg said. Nick opened his mouth to ask the question. "No, he's not a chimera. The second DNA isn't even familial. But I double checked Patterson's DNA with a sample from Al, which is how I know who's Patterson, and who is not."

Nick felt himself sit down as he studied the DNA results. _How are there two DNA strands? _

"Does the second DNA match Paige Landry?" Nick asked. Greg just shook his head, and Nick felt his body just slump back to the chair.

He glanced at his watch, and went for the door.

"Call me as soon as you know about the blood on the knife," Nick said.

* * *

Nick was surprised that it was just Vega and Paige Landry in the interrogation room when he arrived. He looked to Vega, asking the question with his eyes.

"Miss Landry has declined legal counsel," Vega filled in. That almost frightened Nick.

_What does she know that I don't?_

"Sorry I'm late," Nick said. He took a seat across from Paige Landry, and pulled out a sheet of paper, an ink pad, and the print he lifted off the knife. "Miss Landry—"

"Paige, Mr. Stokes," she said, with a coy smile. Nick glanced at Vega, who didn't bother to hide the amused look on his face.

"Miss Landry," Nick started again, hardening his features, "would you please give me your right thumb print?" He pushed the ink pad and paper to her.

She didn't move, but just stared at him, that coy smile never faltering.

"Miss Landry," Nick said again. Suddenly she sat forward in her seat, and Nick had to fight not to jump back in his own.

"I'm here without a lawyer, so I'd appreciate a little leeway," she said. Nick narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded for her to continue. "Two things. I want you to call me Paige. And I only want to talk with you."

_Crap._ Nothing about that idea sounded wise to Nick.

"Paige," he said, accentuating her name, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Paige's smile disappeared. She folded her slender but sculpted arms across her chest. "I won't talk at all unless it's with you alone."

Nick looked sharply from the woman to Vega. The detective shrugged, and nodded at the mirrored glass behind them. He left the room, and Nick instantly felt vulnerable.

He cleared his throat and nodded at the ink pad. Paige quickly pressed her thumb to the ink and rolled the finger evenly over the paper. Nick took the paper from her, and pulled out the print he lifted from the knife. He studied each one closely, but it only took seconds to declare it a match.

When he looked up, Paige was staring at him, her eyes abnormally expressionless. Nick tried to ignore it.

"You asked the other day about your hair," Nick said. "Let me tell you about it now."

"Please do so," Paige said, with a gratuitous wave of her hand. Her dark eyes revealed another coy look. Nick cleared his throat again.

"We found your hair on Christian Patterson's body," Nick said. "That alone wouldn't prove much, especially since you worked with him. But you also lied about your dinner. You were never at that restaurant."

He waited for a reaction.

"You're right," Paige said simply. Nick waited for more, but she didn't say another syllable.

Nick's jaw clenched tight. He glanced at his phone on his hip, hoping it would ring with Greg's results.

"Here's what I think happened," Nick said. "You went back to work just before midnight. Patterson was there, working late. You went in his office, and before he could react, you stabbed him twice.

"The first stab was a sucker punch. It wasn't anything major. But the second was all business," Nick said. "You stabbed him in the stomach, and left him to die. And for some reason, you turned down the temperature in the office."

She started to grin at that, throwing Nick off again.

"Is this amusing?" Nick asked with a tone. "You murdered a man."

Paige shrugged. "That remains to be seen, Mr. Stokes."

Suddenly Nick's phone rang, breaking the challenging spell. Nick quickly answered it.

"Yeah," he answered. He listened, and heard exactly what he expected. "Thanks, Greg."

He ended the call, and stared back at Paige Landry.

"The knife I found in your home," Nick continued, "You used it to kill Patterson. His blood is on the knife."

His mind suddenly blanked, and filled with the two DNA strands in the blood he'd swabbed. _Who is the other donor?_

_Donor?_

_Blood donor?_ He shook his head. _Unless the transfusion was very recent, there wouldn't still be two DNA strands._

"Mr. Stokes?"

He snapped his head from his thoughts, and found Paige studying him intriguingly.

"I just have a few questions," he said. She raised an eyebrow, but nodded her consent. "Was Patterson the only one you killed that night?"

For once, she seemed taken aback. She blinked rapidly a few times before answering.

"I don't think you've proven that I've killed one person, much less two," she answered. Nick wanted to argue that, but let it go.

"Why?" he asked. "Why would you want to kill Patterson?"

And suddenly she smiled, but this time there was no coyness. There was no flirting and definitely no meekness. It was almost menacing.

"My reasons for anything I do are my own, Mr. Stokes," she said. "I doubt you could understand them."

Nick got the distinct impression that she was talking over him now, but he didn't let his gaze falter. The woman before him, as beautiful and intriguing as she continued to be, was dangerous.

And no matter what she said, the evidence said she was guilty. Nick turned around in his seat and looked at the mirrored glass. He gave a short nod to Vega, who he knew was watching everything.

Seconds later, the detective entered the interrogation room.

"Miss Landry, you're under arrest for the murder of Christian Patterson," Vega declared. Nick just watched as Vega continued, and led the woman out of the room. Before she could disappear from view completely, Paige glanced back at Nick.

Their eyes met. She wasn't challenging him anymore, but there was still such confidence.

_Does she think she'll not be found guilty?_

Nick didn't know what to think.


	4. Courting

**Courting**

Vega said Paige Landry posted bail. That didn't surprise Nick at all. Even though the evidence was conclusive, he still had his work cut out for him.

Nick began organizing the evidentiary findings. He knew whatever lawyer Paige would hire would question about the preliminary time of death, and the two DNA strands. He still hadn't figured that out.

The dirt had led to nothing—its makeup was consistent with most of the area. Nick kept wondering if he'd missed something. He even ran everything by Grissom, but the majority of the evidence still pointed to Paige Landry.

The two DNA strands really bothered Nick. He wasn't sure if there really was a second body somewhere, but he wondered if it belonged to a suspect he hadn't found. Part of him knew the defense would bring that up as well.

Nick went back to Phoenix Telecomm and got DNA samples of the rest of the staff. He spent hours hovering over Greg, looking over the processed results.

None of them matched.

Nick ran a hand through his hair, his fingers almost pulling at it. He glanced at his watch. It was 10 a.m, and he hadn't slept in awhile.

He sighed and went to the locker room, grabbed his jacket and left the building.

He stopped by a grocery store and picked up a couple of things—milk, cereal, a frozen pizza—

"Hello Mr. Stokes."

Nick froze. He didn't even question who it was. Slowly he turned from the frozen pizza and faced her.

Paige Landry looked, well, incredible. She wore dark gray pants and a red shirt that echoed every seductive wave she'd given him. Her hands held a blue plastic basket, filled with brie cheese, fruit, French bread, and tofu.

Nick clenched his jaw and slowly let the door to the pizzas shut.

"Miss Landry," he said with a nod. She smiled curiously at him and cocked her head to the side.

"I thought we agreed on Paige."

Nick awkwardly held onto the basket in his hands, the pizza sticking out just as awkwardly.

"Only in the interrogation room," he replied. He started to move by her, but she stepped in his way.

"Well, we're not in the interrogation room," she said. Her voice had a tint of that seduction again. Nick was used to women hitting on him, especially the ones he investigated as suspects. But none unnerved him like she did. Her confidence was firmly in place, and as she took a step towards Nick, he gulped.

Only inches remained between them.

"Paige," Nick said, his voice soft and somewhat wavering, "I just got off a long shift, and I have to be back in ten hours. Excuse me." With that, he managed to slip by her.

As he walked away, he heard her call out to him. "Staying up late for me?" she teased. Nick stopped but didn't look back.

"No," he said firmly. "For Christian Patterson."

* * *

Nick's fingers went to the knot of his tie again. He straightened it and swallowed. He hated ties. He didn't mind court appearances normally, but the whole suit and tie thing bothered him.

It didn't help that today's court day would make him face Paige Landry. He wasn't very confident in his case. It would be tough to get by the lawyers. It always was a struggle.

_This isn't in front of a jury. This is just a preliminary._ The pressure shouldn't be there, but yet it sat in Nick's stomach like a rock. He pulled at his suit jacket and sighed.

He heard her voice from down the hall, and Nick found himself sitting up straighter. Paige Landry talked with her lawyer as they both stalked through the court hallways. Their conversation was low, but Nick could still hear the sound of Paige's voice. She seemed a bit agitated, angry even. That shocked Nick.

"Nick."

He quickly pulled his eyes off Paige and looked up to see Detective Vega. The man motioned towards the courtroom. Nick stood and followed him. Almost as soon as he stood, he felt it—her eyes, on him.

He let himself glance her way.

She looked immaculate. A cream business suit, her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, her makeup and complexion flawless—the image was nearly complete. Yet her face, her expression was . . . dampened. Gone was the cocky seductress.

The judge got started quickly, asking for the official plea of the defendant. Paige's lawyer stood, shooting his client a hesitant glance before speaking.

"The defense pleads . . . guilty, your honor."

Nick felt his heart lurch, and he heard Vega gasp next to him. Neither of them expected that. Nick tuned out the formalities of the court and just stared at Paige.

She kept her eyes straight ahead, not glancing his direction until the bailiffs led her out. Her footsteps clacked loudly against the hard floor, and each step seemed to echo the life sentence she would get.

Suddenly she looked back at him. Nick swallowed as he met the gaze. Her eyes . . . the challenging brown eyes were filled with fear. They seemed to plead with him.

And then she seemed to banish that. Her features hardened and she lifted her chin as she disappeared towards an oblivion Nick didn't envy.

* * *

Warrick was over at his house, watching a football game. It was University of Texas versus Texas A&M. Nick should have been on his feet, cheering at the successful plays and booing the calls he felt were wrong.

Warrick was the only one on his feet. He glanced at his friend, a little perplexed.

"Hey, Nick." He snapped his fingers, and Nick looked away from the label of his water that he'd been staring at.

"Yeah?"

Warrick raised an eyebrow at that. "You okay, man?" Nick nodded automatically, but Warrick didn't let it go. "You still bummed about court?"

Nick shook his head without thinking. "No, of course not. I mean, we won, right?" He didn't sound convinced. In fact, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Warrick sighed and took a seat. "You know, UT just scored a touch down." Nick nodded, no doubt the least enthusiastic response to any sports-related victory he'd ever shown.

"I think I'm going to crash," Nick said, getting to his feet. He didn't look at Warrick as he made his way to his room. "Stay as long as you want."

As soon as he shut his bedroom door, Nick collapsed on his bed. His eyes found his ceiling, and he just stared at it as his thoughts drifted to the case.

_Her lawyer could have gotten her off the charges_, Nick thought. _Why didn't he? Is that what they were arguing about? Did she push to plea guilty?_

_But why? She fought it before, played the mind games and all. Why suddenly admit it?_

_Maybe because she did do it. _

Nick sighed and ran his hands over his face. _That's normally all the more reason for the lawyer to get her out of it. _

He wasn't sure where that left him, but Nick allowed himself to just rest his eyes.


	5. Free

a/n: I'm having a bit of trouble getting the balance on this story, so I've been revising the next few chapters—hence, the delay. Thanks for reading!

**Free**

_Six months later_

Sara proudly dangled her tweezers in front of Nick's face. A bullet was firmly in the tweezers' grasp. Nick rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said. "You found it first."

"Which means you . . ." she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in on what they agreed.

"I get the ALS," Nick said. He grimaced at the thought. The crime scene was a hotel room, and something about finding various stains in a hotel room always made the two CSIs' stomachs queasy.

He'd lost the race to find the bullet, and so, he grudgingly took hold of the ALS and started finding light spots all over the place. Meanwhile, Sara got to go pull the surveillance tapes from hotel security.

Nick put on his colored eyewear and turned on the machine. He heard Sara laugh as she left the room.

He groaned as he found the first biological stain. He bit his lip and started on the samples for the DNA lab. An hour later, he gladly turned off the ALS and left the room.

Sara met him in the lobby, waving a tape in her hand.

"Got it," she said. "We have two suspects, clearly entering and leaving around the time of death." Nick didn't smile or return an enthusiastic response. He glared at her, and headed out of the hotel. Behind him, he heard her chuckle.

She drove—_typical_, Nick thought. Lately she enjoyed tormenting him in the simplest of ways. It was all in good fun, but she was the only one having it. She pulled out on Las Vegas Boulevard. Nick sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window.

Tourists flooded the streets, milling about in and out of the casinos. Hotel after hotel passed by as they drove along the busy road. They came to a stop at one of the many traffic lights.

A woman walked by. Something about her was familiar. Nick frowned.

_Brown hair.__ Tall, attractive . . ._ Nick sat up straight in his seat and turned to follow her with his eyes. She walked along the sidewalk, on his side of the street but in the opposite direction.

"What?" Sara asked, seeing Nick's movement.

_It can't be._ He reached for the door's handle.

"I'll meet you at the lab," Nick said, jumping out of the car.

"Nick!" he heard Sara yell after him, but he walked away quickly, after the woman. _But her face.__ It was so familiar, so similar._ She was ahead of him, walking down the street towards the Aladdin hotel. He quickened his pace, closing in on her.

Suddenly she turned into the entrance of a casino that boasted 25 cent roulette tables. Nick moved to duck in the casino as well, but a group of men fresh from happy hour blocked his way. They made no hurry to get out of his way, and Nick ended up quickly going around them.

But she was gone. The casino had too many people, and none of them stood out as her.

Paige Landry.

_Did I just imagine her?_

Nick clenched his jaw tight, and left the casino.

* * *

He called Vega as soon as he got to the lab.

"Hey, it's Stokes," Nick said. "Do you know whatever happened to Paige Landry, that woman who stabbed that guy in Henderson?"

"Uhhh," Vega stuttered. He was obviously caught off guard by the random inquiry. "As far as I know, she was sent to prison. Why?"

Nick wasn't sure he wanted to say he imagined seeing her, but he couldn't just let it go either. "Can you check up and see what her release status is?"

"Release?" Vega repeated skeptically. "Nick, she committed _murder_. She's not getting out for awhile."  
"Humor me, Vega," Nick said, taking a deep breath before his temper flared. "Call me when you know."

* * *

The rest of his day was spent in motions—doing the work, but not paying attention to it. He went home as soon as the clock hit 7 a.m.

He wasn't tired. Well, he was, but his mind kept drifting back to Paige Landry. He hadn't thought of her in months. But now, the case and her involvement plagued him. He remembered the pieces that just didn't add up to anything.

Sure, every case had some clues or evidence that made no sense in the big picture. But those clues in the Christian Patterson case were huge. _She could have easily gotten out of the charges._

_Did her conscience kick in? Is that why she confessed?_ He remembered how she'd denied his theory in that last interrogation. How she'd stared him directly in the eye and told him he didn't understand her. How everything about her challenged what he did and thought.

He found himself shuddering. Paige had been so forward with him, so indiscreet in her advances. But it just didn't seem to be what she wanted to make of it.

Nick groaned loudly to his empty home. "Why am I still thinking about this?"

His cell phone rang, and Nick quickly picked it up when he saw it was Vega.

"Stokes."

"Nick," the detective said. "I just got a call back, and Paige Landry is nicely tucked away in the state women's penitentiary, for the next fifteen years."

Part of Nick was disappointed. He'd gotten worked up for nothing, and that bothered him, especially when it cost him sleep.

"Okay, thanks." He hung up. He stared at the rug in his living room and released a long breath. After a minute of wallowing in his own stupidity, he decided to get out.

He changed into some jogging pants and a t-shirt, grabbed his workout bag and drove to the gym. It was a pretty busy hour, and the weight machines were mostly taken. But Nick didn't need them today.

He made his way to the lockers and quickly changed into a swimsuit. The pool was pretty crowded as well, but Nick found an open lane. He jumped in and immediately began a lap.

The water was way too warm for his tastes, but he knew he'd appreciate it later. He pulled his weight along, stroke after stroke. The muscles in his arms started to burn slightly, and he enjoyed the pain.

He finished five laps of freestyle, and switched to a breast stroke, and then a back stroke. He breathed out quick breaths as he cut through the water. As soon as his hands touched the cement edge of the pool, he stopped.

It took him a few minutes to catch his breath. There was something about swimming that liberated him, and it was more than welcome. His whole body was starting to feel numb, which was his cue to quit for the day.

He got out of the pool, the water dripping off of him in little rivulets and beads. He snagged a towel and headed for the locker room.

The drive back home was substantially more relaxing than the one to the gym. Nick felt the tugs of a smile on his face as he made his way to the front door.

He dropped his gym bag on the floor and shut the door behind him. As he glanced around his home, he froze.

There, standing in the middle of his living room, was Paige Landry.


	6. Traps and Circumstance

**Traps and Circumstance**

The first thing that set the tone was her appearance. Paige's hair was swept up in a tight bun, with only one wispy strand escaping the practical do. Her clothes were dark, a black half-turtleneck and very fitting pants that matched. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and the expression she wore was one of smirkful victory.

Nick quickly went for his spare gun in the little cabinet by his takeout menus. He whipped it out, thumbed the safety off and aimed the weapon at Paige Landry.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he heard himself demand. In the back of his mind, _"Freeze" _or _"Hands up"_ seemed like a better option. Paige's smirk didn't falter.

"I've come to explain," she said simply, taking a slow step towards him. Nick's eyes and gun followed her movement.

"Explain it at the station," he said. He reached for his phone with his left hand.

"Don't." The firmness of her command actually made Nick hesitate. He glared at her, and started dialing a number.

He saw a flash of movement, and nearly dropped the phone as his finger tightened on the trigger. She'd whipped out a gun, and now held it steadily at him.

_Crap._ Standoff.

Nick didn't like those. The odds were never great, and he really didn't like looking down the barrel of a gun.

"I don't want to hurt you, Nick Stokes," she said quietly. And that was it. _No threat?_ _They normally make threats._

But Nick realized there was nothing normal about this situation.

He turned off the phone, but held his gun firmly towards her. She smiled approvingly.

"Drop the gun, Paige," Nick said in his own low tone. Her smile grew.

"Have you ever actually fired that?" she asked. Nick glared at her. "Oh, that's right. You were actually on the police force before CSI." She started to move, not towards him, but stepping sideways. It made Nick nervous and he hated that—it's what she wanted.

"You know," she continued, her voice mocking him, "of the two of us, I'm the murderer. I won't hesitate. So put the gun down."

Nick didn't like where this was headed. Even if he got a shot off, the odds weren't in his favor.

_Surprise her. You have to do something._ And part of him was still curious about why she was here, now, especially when she was supposedly jailed.

Nick chucked the phone at her from his left hand. Her body reacted defensively, and Nick lunged at her. His body rammed into hers, and suddenly he lost track of his gun. Hers, though, clattered somewhere to the floor.

He liked the odds a lot better with no weapons involved.

Until she kicked him in the side. Nick pushed himself away and got to his feet as she did the same. They eyed each other, with Nick's eyes flickering to his weapon, well out of reach.

"Why are you here?" Nick asked. His legs were tight, ready to spring. Paige just paced in front of him, studying him like he was prey. He didn't like that.

"I'm willing to discuss it, but you're being entirely too edgy," she said. Nick rolled his eyes.

"You're in my home when you're supposed to be finishing a 15 year sentence."

She shook her head.

"You are too predictable, Nick," she said. The use of his first name alone startled him. She'd previously been formal, but something about how she said his name came across too friendly for the situation.

She sighed and suddenly took fast two steps toward him. Her body spun around as she lashed out a kick that caught him right at his calves. Nick was swept off his feet, and fell flat on his back. Before he could push himself to his feet, she was on top of him, pinning him down with her weight.

He felt a sharp edge at his neck, and froze. The blade of a knife playfully bit his skin.

"Hold still, Nick." His eyes followed her next movement. She brought out a syringe with her free hand. Nick's eyes grew wide. He started to struggle, but she just applied more pressure at his neck.

Her fingers flicked off the cap over the needle. Paige twirled the syringe to point down and plunged it into his thigh through his clothing. Nick winced, but it didn't take long for the pain to subside.

It didn't take long for everything to disappear from view either.

* * *

It was dark, but streams of light filtered in the room.

_Where . . . ?_ He opened his eyes, and felt a wave of intense pain in his head as a stream of light from the blinds hit him. He quickly shut his eyes.

He tried to move his hands to shield himself from the light, but they met rough resistance.

_What?_ He tried to voice that, but it came out as mumbled jargon. He squinted his eyes, trying to make sense of his situation. He was still in his home, in his bedroom on the floor. Based on the ropes that tied his wrists behind his back, and also based on the gagged, he was being held captive.

_Paige Landry_, he thought as he remembered what happened.

_Why would she do this to me?_

Something suddenly moved, making Nick flinch as he tried to focus on it.

"Hi Nick," he heard. It was Paige again, but she didn't sound as . . .haughty as before.

"I realize you're confused by all this," she began, "but it was somewhat necessary."

She really didn't sound so smug this time. It threw Nick off, but not the instinctive fear he felt. He didn't particularly like it when criminals fixated on him. That'd happened before, and it—well, it wasn't fun.

"I need you to stop looking into my case," she said next. "No more investigations, no more calls about me in prison."

Paige knelt down by his body, and reached for the gag. Her fingertips lingered around his mouth before she removed the gag, but as soon as it was gone, Nick jerked his head away from her.

He swallowed dryly before trying to speak.

"Why would I do that?" Nick said, his voice raspy. Suddenly a bottle appeared in front of his face. Paige unscrewed the cap of the water, and tilted it towards him. Nick hesitated to take it, even though his throat cried out for some moisture after whatever Paige had drugged him with.

"We're on the same side, Nick," she said. She moved the bottle towards him again, and started to pour it over his mouth. It caught him off guard, and he sputtered and choked on the first bit.

She let him regain himself, and then offered him more. Nick shook his head. He still didn't trust her, even if she was being less adversarial.

"You knew I could have gotten out of a trial," she said next. Nick looked at her sharply, but didn't answer. "I saw you in that court room. You were nervous. Your case had so many holes—"

"Then why did you admit to it?" he said, cutting her off. His eyes started to blaze at her. Here she was, proclaiming to be a 'good guy' when she tied him up and pointed out his weak case.

Paige just smiled. "I didn't admit to it."

"You pled guilty," Nick said with a roll of his eyes.

"That's not the same thing," she said. _What?!_ He wasn't about to argue semantics with her, but come on!

"What are you getting at?" Nick asked. He tried to push his body up with his shoulder, but it wasn't working too well with his hands behind his back. He felt Paige's hands on him, helping him sit up. He tried to ignore the tingle that went through him.

"You had two DNA samples from Christian's body, didn't you?" she said. Nick frowned, but didn't say anything. "I can't tell you who the blood belongs to. Privacy is one of the beauties of blood donation."

_Donation!?! _

"What, the Red Cross?" Nick quipped skeptically. Paige raised an eyebrow at that but nodded.

"Christian was killed elsewhere a few hours before I was in his office," she said. "He already bled a lot, even through the small stomach wound."

"It wasn't small—you twisted the knife, remember?" He glared at her, still not buying these bizarre details.

"No, I didn't," she said. "But because he had bled so much already, I added blood to his wound at the office."

Nick blinked. It made sense, and that confused Nick even more._ Why would she do this? What purpose does it serve?_

"You lowered the temperature to fake an earlier time of death," Nick stated, but Paige shook her head.

"No. The temperature was lowered just before you arrived, so you would think the time of death was different." Paige raised an eyebrow again, nodding at him as if to ask if he was getting all this.

"Are you saying you were framed?" Nick asked slowly. She laughed at that.

"You still don't get it, do you?" she said. Nick ignored that.

"Are you here to proclaim your innocence?" he asked, a sarcastic lit to his voice.

"I don't need to prove it to you," Paige said. "I'm just telling you the how and why."

"Why you did it?" Nick clarified.

"Why I allowed it to be done," Paige said. "Like your work is for you, it was a matter of duty. It still is."

Nick shook his head. "What are you talking about anymore? Would you drop the cryptic act and just tell me whatever it is you're trying to say?"

Paige stood up and started pacing. Nick heard her sigh, but he himself felt frustrated. What she said just didn't make sense—especially if she was claiming she didn't kill Patterson.

"You never told me why you killed him," Nick said, changing the direction of this twisted interrogation. He saw her steps falter. "What was your motive?"

Her back was facing him, but Nick saw her swipe at her face. He heard her take a deep breath, a shuddering one at that. _Is she crying?_

She whirled around to face him, closing the distance between them as she crouched down by his side and got close to his face. Nick had to brace himself with his bound hands not to fall back.

"Christian and I were seeing each other," she said with vicious emotion. "His death was unplanned, but we made the most of it."

Nick quickly caught the 'we' reference, and suddenly felt the unease within him grow.

"He was mugged not far from the office building," she said. She leaned close to his ear, and her breath tickled his skin. "It was purely random. A mugging."

_The wallet was missing_, Nick recalled suddenly. He swallowed as she continued.

"The knife was left in his body. We made the most of Christian's death," she said. "We moved his body to the office building, staged the scene with the blood and the temperature. You were supposed to think I tampered the temperature, trying to cover my tracks by throwing off the time of death. But Christian really died earlier that night."

She stopped, a hitch in her voice.

"You said 'we,'" Nick said softly. "The security tapes showed no one but you." She sighed and pulled back to stare him in the eye.

"Tapes can be altered," she said. "Before you ask why, think about the big picture. If I did it, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't be discussing that night with you. Instead, I'm asking you to forget about it all before you harm what I've spent months trying to accomplish."

The stubborn Texan in him refused to see where this was going. "Months you should have spent in prison," he said meanly. Suddenly she knocked him down on his side. He felt her warm breath on his neck as she seethed at him.

"I spent months in that prison. That was the whole point." She pushed off of him. Nick winced, but stared at her. Her face was twisted with conflicting emotions. She seemed so angry, and yet so desperate that he believe she wasn't a murderer.

Nick opened his mouth to ask a question, but she suddenly looked at her watch and cut him off.

"I have to go," she said, trying to steel her voice. She failed as she continued. "Listen to me, Nick. I'm not what you think I am. But even if you don't believe me, please . . . . Leave me alone."

She started to turn to leave, but stopped. Paige removed a knife from seemingly nowhere and threw it down near Nick's hands. The tip of blade embedded itself in the carpet. He stared at it over his shoulder. He glanced back at Paige.

She was already gone.

He sighed and wiggled his arms back so he could cut the ropes against the knife.


	7. Distractions

a/n: My apologies for the delay, but this story is evolving, and so is my free time. I'll keep writing—I was this close to deleting this story, but I'll keep it up unless something really bugs me about it. Enjoy—

**Distractions**

Nick made sure he wore long sleeves to work the next shift. The ropes Paige used left rough marks around his wrists, and the last thing he wanted was his colleagues seeing that—especially since they might attribute it to his 'social life.'

Focusing on cases became nearly impossible. All Nick wanted to do was figure out this mystery of Paige. As Grissom started rehashing evidence with the others, Nick's mind started drifting.

_She said 'we.' And that she did go to prison._

_"That was the whole point," she'd said._

_What the hell does that mean?_

He shook his head clear. _Don't focus on that yet. How did she pull it off if it was staged?_ He recalled what she'd said, but it seemed too far-fetched to him. She would have been seen, or whoever 'we' was would have been seen.

_Unless the whole building . . . No._

_What about the company?_ Phoenix Telecomm . . . _maybe they're involved._

"Nick."

He snapped his head back to the group. Grissom, Catherine, Warrick and Sara were all staring at him.

"Sorry," he said with a sheepish smile. "What did you say?" Sara rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

"You all right, Nicky?" Grissom asked. He had that face on, the scolding question look. It was the closest Gil came to showing that resembled concern.

Nick sat up straighter in his chair and nodded a little too much. Luckily, he managed to avoid other inquiries for the moment.

He stole some time during the shift and started researching Phoenix Telecomm. He leaned towards the computer screen, a little hunched over but intrigued.

According to its website, Phoenix Telecomm had been around for ten years already. It was a relatively small company, but had business relations that spanned across the country. The various reports to the investors showed the turnover rate in the company was relatively low, although there was a spike in the last year. That made Nick curious.

Nick put in a call to the company, requesting information about those who had left the company. Whoever he spoke with was young and helpful, and faxed him a list. Nick chewed on his lip as he studied it.

The company hired four new employees within six months of Christian Patterson's death. Astonishingly, those same four employees left in various ways within a month of Patterson's death.

The four employees included Patterson himself, Paige Landry, a custodian, and an office manager. The last two merely quit, but that didn't lessen the effect.

Nick smacked his head with the palm of his hand as the realization of his stupidity hit him.

_They were in on it._

_Even Patterson?_

Well, they were all connected at least. The people he'd talked with, who had 'helped' with his investigation, had other agendas.

_Which makes Paige's story less wild.___

_But why? Who do they work for?_ Phoenix Telecomm didn't seem like the executors of Paige's acts.

"What are you working on?" came a voice behind him. Nick jumped in his seat as he swung his head around to see who it was. Grissom raised an eyebrow at that.

Nick opened his mouth to answer, but failed to put together anything remotely intelligible. Grissom glanced at what Nick was studying.

"Phoenix Telecomm," he read aloud. "Paige Landry?" His voice contained that reserved skepticism, the kind he used when he was seconds away from lecturing you.

"Yeah," Nick admitted slowly. "I . . . something came up, and I wanted to look into it further." He subconsciously pulled at the edges of his sleeves.

Grissom nodded. "What came up?"

_Crap._ Nick didn't want to tell Grissom, but he didn't want to lie either. Plus, Paige had told him to leave it all alone.

Of course, he hadn't listened to that either.

"Nick?" Gil hadn't let up his persistent stare at the young CSI. Nick sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Suddenly Grissom reached out and grabbed Nick's wrist. Nick looked at him, surprised, but Gil wasn't looking back. He was studying the marks on his wrist. His eyes flickered with something Nick couldn't identify. Nick cautiously tried to twist his wrist free. He winced at the grip Grissom had on him, and at the pain the friction caused.

"Gris," Nick said, still twisting his wrist away. "It's nothing." Grissom finally released the wrist, but his eyes bored into Nick, who conveniently ignored them.

"Do I need to ask what caused that?" Grissom said, pointing at his wrist while eyeing the other which he hadn't inspected. Nick shook his head vigorously.

"No." He gathered the printouts he'd been reading and headed for the door. "I should check with Warrick on that B&E." He cleared his throat nervously and made it out without another question from Grissom.

But he didn't see Grissom stare after him.

Nor did he see Sara enter the room soon after he left.

"What?" she asked, seeing Grissom's perplexed expression. He raised a hand, pointing after Nick.

Sara saw her friend's retreating form. "Oh, is he still acting weird?" she asked. Grissom snapped his attention to her.

"Still?" he questioned.

"Yeah. He jumped out of the car yesterday after that hotel scene," she said. "He didn't give a reason."

Grissom frowned as he thought.

"Do you ever think that if we were investigating each other, we'd be astounded by what we discovered?" he said. He didn't wait for a reply, but left the room for his office.

* * *

He hated to admit it, but his work was suffering. Nick didn't focus on the cases like he normally did. Everything was automatic, but without thought behind it. Warrick noticed it, but compensated accordingly.

For that, Nick was grateful. He was also grateful when the shift ended.

He sipped on a cup of coffee as he sat at his counter at home. In front of him was what he'd discovered about the former employees of Phoenix Telecomm.

"So who do you all work for?" he said aloud, his eyes scanning the papers.

"I thought I told you to stop."

Nick jerked at the voice behind him, and knocked over his coffee in the process. He half moved to stop the spill, and half whirled around to face the intruder.

Paige grinned at his reaction.

"Would you please stop doing that?" he said, finally deciding on the coffee cleanup. It also gave him some distance from her, just in case. "You don't have another one of those needles, do you?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"Good," Nick said. He chucked a coffee-stained towel at the sink and turned back to Paige. She looked less intimidating this time—jeans, t-shirt and a jacket. Her hands were tucked in her pockets as she studied him.

"Why are you still investigating?" she asked him. Nick raised an eyebrow at that.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Did you expect me not to?" she countered. Nick rolled his eyes.

"Did you expect me to stop after coming here, drugging me and tying me up?"

She fell silent for a moment, and Nick seized the victory.

"You get out of jail, give me a long and confusing explanation, and then tell me to drop the whole thing," Nick said. "I just can't accept that."

Paige started pacing, her eyes on the floor. "What would you accept?"

"How 'bout explaining why you, Patterson and two others were all planted at Phoenix Telecomm?" Nick blurted out. "Or why you were 'sent' to prison? Or where Patterson was actually killed?"

She held up her hands in mock surrender, if nothing else than to keep him from going on. She took a step towards him, and Nick found himself stepping back from the advance. She raised an eyebrow at that, but Nick didn't care. _She's drop-kicked me before._ That tugged at his pride, but self-preservation took priority.

"I think I can explain it enough by telling you, in general terms, who I work for," Paige said, taking a step back from Nick to give him space. She folded her arms in front of her and looked directly in his eyes. "I work for a private group that gets contracted to do . . . whatever. Some of our clients have a lot of clout in matters of state."

Nick blinked.

"Is that the most round-about way of saying you work for the government?" he asked.

She smiled, but it faded quickly. "Occasionally, though don't spread it around."

"So are you saying you were sent to prison for a reason? A job?" Nick asked. He was having a hard time swallowing this, but he was trying to keep an open mind. A very open mind.

"I'll back up a bit," she said. Paige sat at the counter, and Nick almost moved to sit next to her but thought better of it.

"We've been in Vegas for awhile, waiting for info and an opportunity. The opportunity took longer, but when Christian was killed, that was our cue," she said. "And I did everything I could to make sure you saw me as guilty."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, but he nodded for her to continue.

"I had to be put in prison convincingly. I couldn't just be dropped in, not for our objective," Paige said. Her voice started to get cooler. "With a real murder behind me, I was able to do what I needed to quickly."

"You said you just got out of prison a few weeks ago," Nick pointed out.

"It wasn't a spring picnic, but at least I finished the job and got out," she said. Something about that statement made Nick's skin prickle with tension.

"What did you need to do there?" he asked. She simply stoned her face and said:

"For your own safety and for my client's protection, I can't tell you," she said firmly. Nick rolled his eyes. Suddenly she was out of her seat and circling the counter. She reached for his cabinets and helped herself to a glass of water. Nick watched as she slowly drank the liquid, the whole time her own eyes staring back at him.

The glass was set down, and she closed the distance between them. Nick gulped as he watched her.

"You don't believe me," she stated. Nick considered his words carefully.

"I want to understand," he said. He believed her, to an extent. He didn't know how much he bought the cloak and dagger routine she insisted on, but he reminded himself he knew so little about her anyway.

Paige was inches from him, and it reminded Nick of the initial investigation. She'd been so coy and seductive then. He doubted if that had changed.

She leaned towards him, and brushed her lips over his. Nick didn't move a muscle but continued to stare at her.

Paige noticed his tension, and after that initial taste of his lips, pulled back. They stared at each other until Nick broke the silence.

"You said you've been in Vegas for awhile," he said. He was well aware that he'd just acted like nothing happened. "If your job is over, why are you still here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was still here because of you?" she said. Nick swallowed, but nodded.

"Of everything you've told me, that's the easiest to believe," he said. "But I'm not sold on it." Paige took a step back. She seemed nearly offended at what he said, so Nick plowed ahead with an explanation. "I mean, you were coming on strong before. Your whole seductive routine was a way for you to confuse me when I was investigating you. So why—"

"—should you believe me now?" Paige filled in. "It wasn't all an act all those months ago." As if to prove it, she closed the distance between them again and kissed him hard. Her hands went to his face, caressing his skin and moving to intertwine her fingers in his hair. Nick felt a rush of blood and excitement run through him, and he fought between air and just letting her kiss him.

She teased his lips, nipped at them and pulled on them with her teeth. Nick let out a gasp and started to kiss her back.

_What the hell are you doing?_ His mind tried being rational—there were still too many questions, too many holes. But Nick's body was rapidly giving into her charms. Her hands moved from his hair and slowly slid down to his chest.

A knock at the front door brought Nick back to reality. Paige persisted in the makeout, but Nick pushed her away.

"Who is it?" he yelled at the front door, his pulse still racing. Paige reached for him, her hands grasping his hips and pulling him back. He pushed her hands away and peaked through the eyehole at the door.

_Crap._ It was Warrick, and he heard the muffled shout through the door that said as much.

He glanced back at Paige, who seemed as composed as ever, which surprised Nick considering how involved she was two seconds earlier. She simply nodded and moved back to the bedrooms, hiding out of view.

Nick opened the front door, and stepped aside. His tall friend entered, glancing around as if he knew. The air in the room was thick and Nick wondered if his appearance was as disheveled as he felt.

Warrick shot him a look.

"What's going on, man?" he said. Nick quickly shook his head.

"Nothing. I was just . . . sleeping."

The look persisted. "Really," Warrick said dryly. His eyes darted around the room again. "Well, I just wanted to check on you. See if you're okay."

That confused Nick. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, frowning. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, Grissom was a little worried," Warrick said. Nick felt his face flush. _He told him about my wrists._ "That, and you seemed a bit off."

Nick shrugged and plastered a fake smile on his lips. "I'm okay, really." A muffled noise came from the bedroom, as if something fell back there. Nick tried not to react. "Uh, I'm really tired though, Warrick, so—"

The noise didn't go unnoticed by Warrick but he slowly nodded and stepped towards the door.

"Right," he said. "I'll see you tonight."

As soon as Warrick left, Nick sighed in relief. He turned to face the hallway to his bedroom, and stomped back there, ready to chew her out for—

But she wasn't there, or in any of the rooms. Instead, Nick found a note lying on his pillow.

**_Sweet dreams. I'll see you later._**

He rolled his eyes and sighed loudly in frustration.

_This woman will be the death of me_, he thought before flopping down on his bed. He fell asleep quickly.


	8. Corners

a/n: Here's a long chapter! I have more written, and to be honest, I'm struggling with this story. But if you can bend your boundaries of belief, you may like it.

**Corners**

Nick and Catherine bent over the dead body. The victim was male, 19 years old, a member of a gang. He'd been shot three times, all in the chest cavity. The vic had been eating, hanging out in a burger joint, and then someone came in and shot him.

The witnesses were hazy, as usual. Catherine stood up and adjusted the latex gloves on her hands.

"There's no weapon," she said, glancing around. "Last gang shooting I was on, they left the weapon."

Nick nodded. "Better to leave it and give you a dead end, instead of being caught with it later." He stood up as well. "I'll check outside, see if I can find something."

"I'll process in here," Catherine said. Nick grabbed a few things, including a camera, and headed outdoors.

The front just seemed too obvious. Too many potential witnesses could see the perpetrator or stumble on the weapon. Nick circled around the building to the back exit, mainly for employees.

His footsteps were damp echoes in the alleyway. Someone had dumped something recently, like dirty water or bad food. He tried not to dwell on that.

He pulled out his flashlight and started searching. Bags of trash, beer bottles, newspapers . . . The monotony of the garbage in the alley was making his mind wander. It started to drift to Paige.

And then he saw it. A glint of metal shown beneath a bag. Nick slowly removed the bag, placing it away from the gun. He took several photographs of the weapon and the surrounding area before he crouched down to gather it.

He'd just bagged it when he heard footsteps coming.

"Hey, Cath," he said over his shoulder. "I found the gun." He started tagging it when he noticed Catherine hadn't answered.

Nick looked up from his position, and standing there was Paige Landry. He almost fell back on his butt when he saw her.

"What are you doing here?" He couldn't help but notice the panic in his voice. Though she was intriguing, Paige's mysteriousness made Nick uneasy. "There are police everywhere," he added. She certainly didn't seem worried about being seen, and that just contradicted all the discretion she urged on him.

"I missed you," she said. Simple, quick, and also weird. She took a step towards Nick, and he did actually fall back. He almost dropped the evidence bag with the gun, but caught it just in time.

"I'm working," Nick said.

"So?"

"So, I'm supposed to be focusing on the crime scene," he said. Paige smiled proudly, and held out a hand to him. He took it and she pulled him up to his feet.

"Supposed to be," Paige repeated. "Does that mean you haven't been?"

Nick rolled his eyes, but then stared hard at her. "I'm still bothered by some things." She cocked her head to the side as if inviting him to go on. "Did you really love Christian Patterson?"

She quirked a grin at him. "Jealous?"

Nick shook his head. "No. I'm asking you because you didn't seem too torn up about it months ago."

Her grin disappeared as a fire started in her gaze. "I was _acting_, Nick," she said. "I had to make you believe I was guilty, and I did. But I loved him. I'm _still_ not over him."

"Really?" Nick said. "You seemed eager to move on with me." She glared at him, but Nick pushed on. "Not that I'm complaining. You're a great kisser, but—"

She slapped him. His head snapped with the slap to the right. He felt the fire from the contact dissipate through his skin, and then stinging. He gingerly touched his cheek, and his hand came back with a little bit of blood. Nick glanced at her hand, and his eyes zoned in on a ring twisted wrong on her finger.

She didn't seem to notice.

"You _still_ don't believe me," Paige seethed. "After everything I've told you?"

Nick took a deep breath, and held up the bagged gun. "I rely on evidence. I have nothing but your word and mysterious circumstances," he said. "You haven't given me anything I can verify."

She crossed her arms in front of her and pursed her lips. "My employer is very serious. I can't just tell you everything without consequences."

Nick shook his head, and swiped at the cut on his face. He turned to where he'd found the gun and snapped a couple more shots. When he finished, he glanced at Paige.

"Then tell me where Patterson was killed," Nick said. "And stop popping up like this, unannounced at my crime scenes."

"What does that have to do with verifying my story?" she asked, slightly amused at his last comment.

He smirked at her and gave her a taste of her own medicine. "It's for your own safety, so your employer doesn't get upset."

"Fine."

* * *

After his shift, Nick went straight to the location Paige had given him. It wasn't far from Henderson, but not in the best part of town either. Old supermarkets and questionable video stores lined the area. Nick went behind the plaza of stores, back to the loading and docking areas.

Paige had said Patterson was found there. Now it was busy with large semis towing food and whatever else.

His foot scrapped against the ground, and Nick looked down. There was dirt, a dusty brown lightly covering over the pavement.

_Dirt._ Nick bent down and collected a sample to compare.

Workers milled around, unloading trucks and moving them out. Employees came out and dumped boxes in the large garbage bin. They took cigarette breaks and gossiped on cell phones.

Nick frowned. _Months ago—this isn't a crime scene anymore._ He sighed and rolled his head, trying to crack his neck.

He froze when he saw it. Cameras. The surveillance system looked old, but sure enough, there were two cameras by the loading docks.

Nick quickly made his way inside.

The store manager was indifferent, but helpful.

"The system works half of the time," he said honestly, "but go ahead and take a look." Nick nodded.

"I need the tapes for a specific night over six months ago. Whatever covered your loading docks area," he said. The manager shrugged.

"I'll show you were they are. Take whatever you want."

* * *

Nick half-snuck back into the lab. It was primetime during the day shift hours, but luckily they were out on a scene. He dropped off the dirt on Greg's desk, and headed to the audio/visual area.

Nick queued up the surveillance tapes from the grocery store. He had exactly what he wanted—two tapes, one for each camera.

As the first tape sped along, Nick thought about Paige. She was . . . Well, he was intrigued.

Intrigued. Was that the best he could come up with? The only word that fittingly came to mind for her.

Yet he always was on edge too. Paige was like a snake—poised and ready to strike, but yet able to be charmed.

_Or is she the one doing the charming?_

The way she had kissed him. Nick shuddered. The way she had slapped him. His hand came up to the cut on his face. Her reaction to his questioning seemed genuinely upset. He had questioned her feelings, her sincerity.

Bad idea, come to think of it. But he just didn't trust her.

_Yet._ The tape sputtered suddenly, and went to noise. Nick frowned and backed it up. The time code read 7:30 p.m. _About the time of death for Patterson._ He leaned forward and watched the tape.

It moved forward, but suddenly turned to noise. The noise continued for 12 minutes, and then returned to normal footage of the docks.

"What the . . ." He backed up the tape again and re-watched the part before the noise. Everything seemed normal.

He fast forward to the end of the noise, and paused it.

Nothing was going on. Whatever was blocked out had been what Nick wanted to see. He pursed his lips together, but zoomed in on parts of the still frame.

He first saw nothing out of the ordinary, but then he focused on the pavement beyond the docks.

It was a dark spot. Nick frowned. It hadn't been there before. He zoomed in tighter and tried to improve the resolution.

It wasn't just a dark spot. It was splatter and a pool.

"Blood," Nick said aloud, nodding to himself. Paige was telling the truth. Patterson had been killed there.

Nick pushed away from the desk and brought his hands to his head. He swiveled slightly in the chair as he thought.

_Why would someone blank out the tapes?_

_Well, Paige _did_ say her employer found Patterson, and then they all staged his murder at __Phoenix__ Telecom._

Nick shook his head.

_So they altered the tapes so no one would see them there? Protecting themselves? Why didn't the store manager say something?_

Nick knew the man probably had no idea. He'd be surprised if any of them knew about the tapes. _Probably don't even have anyone watching them._

Nick put in the other tape. He was starting to feel exhausted as he reviewed the same footage, even the noise, just at a different angle.

He retrieved the tapes and glanced at the clock. It was 3 p.m. He only had a few hours before he was supposed to be back.

He got home as quickly as he could, his energy fading fast. Nick put the tapes down on the kitchen counter, along with his keys and wallet. He headed back to his bed.

* * *

He woke up at 6:30 p.m.

"Oh, crap!!" He jumped out of bed, and practically dove in the shower. Nick was out and dressed in record time.

He ran out to the front room, searching for his keys and wallet. He finally found them on the coffee table, and without any thought, bolted out the door to his SUV.

* * *

He and Catherine visited the victim's family and "friends." It was never pleasant, and a little edgy, especially where gangs were involved. Nick was glad when it was over.

Catherine had said something about the cut on his face, but Nick managed to get out of it with a lame excuse. She didn't press the matter.

Nick yawned as he made his way to the locker room. Greg was there, changing socks for whatever reason.

"Hey, I got the results on that dirt," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I put them on your desk."

Nick's eyes lit up, though they quickly dimmed as Greg's feet made themselves known.

"Thanks," he said, and quickly darted out of the room. Nick couldn't get to his desk fast enough.

He pulled out the results from Patterson's case, a copy of the whole file buried in his desk. He placed the results then side by side with the current ones.

They were the same.

Now he knew that dirt was dirt, and that it was common dirt at that. But dirt _did_ vary, and yet here he had match.

It backed up Paige again, and part of Nick was really glad for that.

* * *

She was waiting for him again when he got home. Paige looked tense, nervous even. Her hands wouldn't stop moving—they didn't shake, but they were constantly wringing or reaching for something.

"What is it?" Nick asked as soon as he shut the door. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Nick frowned. She seemed to have an answer for everything, but not now.

She wore a dark tank top, just hugging her body and overlapping her jeans slightly. Nick took a step towards her and stopped.

"Paige?"

She looked to him, her eyes wide with . . ._fear_ And then suddenly she moved in on him.

Paige started kissing air before she reached his lips, but as soon as she made contact, her hands were all over him. Nick tried to stop her, to get her to talk to him. But she was consumed.

She practically dead-legged him, and he fell to the ground. Paige followed, lying on top of his body and renewing her fervor.

Those kisses ran over his lips, and he responded back. She fought for control, and Nick just for participation. Suddenly she broke the feverish kisses and started trailing them down his neck. Her hands roamed south, down the sides of his torso and up under his shirt.

Her hands were warm on his skin. Nick gulped as she nibbled on his skin and up to his ear lobe.

Suddenly Nick captured her arms and brought her hands away from him.

"Paige," he said in a throaty whisper. She stared at him, then tried to pick back up. Nick gripped tighter on her arms. "Paige, please."

_Please? What are you doing?_

_Stopping._

Something wasn't right, and it was sending red lights off in his mind. He disentangled himself from her and got to his feet. He tried to straighten his clothes, but suddenly Paige was on him again.

She was fierce—something about it scared Nick.

_This isn't about love, or even attraction._ Nick gulped again as she kissed him roughly, pinning him back against the wall so hard that his head banged against it.

_This is domination. She wants control._

And the degree to which she was going frightened Nick. He pushed her away with both hands, hard.

"Leave," he said in a low growl. His heart rammed against his chest, and he knew it was from adrenaline, not hormones.

Paige glared at him but didn't say a word until she reached the door. She turned at the last second and said, "Be careful."

And that was it. She was gone.

Nick sighed and locked the door behind her.

_What the hell just happened?_

He'd been asking that a lot lately.


	9. Sprung

**Sprung**

He slept again, but woke up earlier than he'd planned. Nick blinked, trying to focus on anything. His watch said it was only 4:30.

_Why am I awake?_ He sighed and rolled over.

Then he heard it.

Something scratched outside his bedroom window. Nick craned his head up to see what it was.

And it _moved._ A large shadow quickly moved.

Nick bolted out of his bed and grabbed his gun. He peered out the window, but whatever it was, it was gone.

His heart raced again.

Nick ran to the front door, flinging it open with his gun drawn.

Staring back at him was Sara, wide-eyed and flabbergasted.

"Geez, sorry!" he said. Nick quickly dropped his aim and ran a hand over his flush face.

When he glanced back at her, he noticed she too was flushed.

And that's when it dawned on Nick that he was clad only in his boxers.

"Aside from being mostly naked, are you okay?" Sara asked. Nick stumbled for words.

"Uh . . ." He motioned for her to come in and half dashed for his bedroom. "Let me, uh, get some clothes," he shouted from his room. His mind was laughing at him for his stupidity.

And from the sounds of it, so was Sara.

He came back out in more decent apparel. Sara stood by the TV, picking up tapes and putting them down again.

"So, how are you?" she asked. Nick instantly frowned.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he asked. "I'm fine." Sara started talking with her hands, waving a tape she'd gotten her hands on.

"You keep saying you're fine, but everyone knows something's up," she said. Nick froze.

The tape she held . . . it was one of the tapes from the grocery store.

_Didn't I leave that on the counter?_

_Maybe Paige watched it._

"What?" Sara asked, glancing between the tape and Nick.

"Did you get that there, or did you pick that up from the counter?" he asked slowly. He hoped he was just imagining it.

"It was on the TV, Nick, like the others," she said. She was frowning, perplexed at his behavior. "Why?"

Nick just shook his head.

* * *

He spent most of the night in the lab. Catherine wanted to go double check something with the crime scene, and Nick was grateful when she said she could handle it herself.

_Am I just being paranoid?_ _Things just being misplaced?___

_But what about outside my window? That couldn't have been Sara._

_Or am I still paranoid?_

He sighed and made his way to the breakroom.

He heard someone call his name, and stopped to see he'd passed the receptionist.

"Nick," she said, "did your friends get a hold of you?"

"Friends?" he repeated.

The young woman nodded. "Yeah. Two guys. They said they were trying to get in touch with you."

Nick swallowed. He had no idea who would be looking for him, but this just unsettled him more.

"They kept missing you, so I told them your normal hours," the receptionist continued. Nick felt his stomach lurch.

"Thanks," he said hollowly. She nodded cheerfully and moved on.

_You have to get to the bottom of this. Quickly._

Nick stormed through the CSI lab to Grissom's office. The supervisor sat calmly at his desk, reading something on his laptop.

"Grissom," Nick said in a rush. "I need a few days off."

* * *

"So what do you have?" Gil asked Catherine. The two CSIs sat at a table, covered with crime scene photos and evidence. Grissom was a bit disturbed by Nick's abrupt request for time off. It wasn't characteristic for him.

It was so sudden, and Nick didn't offer any explanation. But Grissom granted it, and took over the gang murder case with Catherine.

"The gun was tossed in the alley behind the restaurant," she said. "Casings from inside the crime scene match the striations of the gun."

"Any prints?" he asked.

"No, so no suspects at this point," she said. She didn't look at him as she went on. "You worried about him?"

Grissom glanced at her, but nodded.

"He's hiding something." Gil sighed. "Did you see the cut on his face?"

She shrugged and picked up a photo. "It could have been a lovers' quarrel." Gil shot her an incredulous look.

"Doubtful," he said simply. His eyes moved to the photo she held, and they widened as he spotted something. "Who is that?"

Catherine looked between him and the photo. And then she saw what Grissom meant.

"Who's the woman?" In one of the photos of where Nick found the gun, a woman was in the background. Half of her body was cut off in the photo, but she was there. Catherine didn't recognize her.

But Grissom knew she looked familiar.

"Oh my."

Catherine shot him a look, pressuring him for answers. "What?"

Gil pointed at the woman's half-seen face. "That's Paige Landry."

* * *

Nick checked the locks on his doors and windows for the eighth time since being home. His hands were sweaty and his muscles tight. He paced back and forth, his eyes on his gun that was loaded and ready, resting on the countertop.

Part of him realized how he might be overreacting about it all. But Paige's cryptic warnings were starting to get through to him.

He rolled his eyes at the thought of her. She liked him, to put it mildly and simply, but yet she didn't seem concerned with the trouble she'd brought up. Nick couldn't blame her for everything, for how unsafe he felt now, but he did know that he was fine two weeks ago.

_She could just be nuts_, he thought. Sure, she was gorgeous, but that didn't mask what was starting to become obvious.

_Except when she kisses you_. Nick immediately groaned out loud at himself. He stomped back to his bedroom and changed into some clothes suited for jogging.

His eyes lingered on his gun before he left. The paranoid part of him said take it! He reached for it, his hand hovering over the security it would give him. Suddenly he pulled back, and left his house without it.

He ran to the park. It was overcast, and even so, the hidden sun would set soon. Nick started running.

He didn't bother with the slow starter pace or even a brisk jog. He ran full-out, not holding anything back. His speed and determination drew some looks from some teens skateboarding, but Nick didn't really care about that.

The quick pace was hard to keep steady, but focusing on it kept his mind busy. His lungs expelled air with short bursts, and little streams of sweat dripped over his skin. Nick swiped at his face, and kept running.

He'd circled the park a few times, but he hadn't noticed the car until now. It was a dark SUV, tinted windows and an idling engine. Nick passed it but heard the engine rev slightly.

He glanced over his shoulder. The SUV was following him, nearly matching his pace, which was tiring out. Nick swallowed hard and picked up his pace.

Suddenly he cut across the park, not caring if he looked crazy. Behind him he heard screeching tires and car doors opening and shutting.

He ventured a glance back at the vehicle, and was struck by how dark everything was. The sun was gone, and Nick discovered he was nearly alone in the park. Not only that, but two men dressed as joggers were following him.

Nick swore under his ragged breath and pumped his legs harder. There was a thick area of trees in the park, and Nick made his way there. With no gun or cell phone, hiding was his best idea.

The "joggers" weren't far behind him, and that made Nick fearful. He'd been running for awhile now, and the men following were fresh.

_Don't think; just get away!!_ He obeyed his instinct.

The thick trees enveloped Nick, and he quickly cut into them, weaving around, and far from any path. His hurried steps made a lot of noise. Nick stopped and tried to move more quietly.

The biggest problem was his breathing. He could hardly breathe quietly, much less move without attracting—

Something snapped around him. Nick whirled around to face it.

One of the joggers stood there, grinning at Nick. Nick bolted.

Twigs tore into his skin as he ran through the trees, not caring anymore if he could be heard. He heard the jogger shout to whoever was with him, and Nick couldn't stop the panic flooding him.

_Get back to the lab—just get anywhere but here!_

His foot suddenly caught on a tree root, and Nick pitched forward. Just then, a small explosion sounded behind him, and chased him.

It was merely a gunshot, but the bullet whizzed above Nick's head as he fell.

_Crap._

He tried to stay low as he continued to run, until he made it out of the trees. Nick quickly looked from side to side, seeing if he was clear or not. But it was so dark now, he couldn't make out anything that wasn't in the street lamps' path.

Suddenly he was grabbed. He didn't where it came from, but Nick found himself under attack.

His assailant put him in a choke hold. Nick wrenched his body, trying to get free. He gagged at the pressure on his neck but tried to elbow his attacker in the chest. Suddenly he was hit, a punch to one of his kidneys. Nick yelped and his body slacked for a second as the pain radiated through him. The assailant took the moment to drag Nick by his neck towards the street. Nick could hear that engine idling nearby.

Air was short, little enough to keep him alive, but Nick felt himself weakening. His vision swirled and he could feel unconsciousness start to take him.

A loud siren screamed at him and his attacker. Red and blue lights flashed at them, and suddenly Nick was dropped. His body collapsed to the hard ground, and his lungs instantly expanded to take in the neglected air. When he heard shouts of police and the retreating footsteps of his attacker, Nick ventured to glance around.

"Sir, are you okay?" one of them asked. Nick could hear the strain in the voice, and he knew one of the police had a gun drawn.

"Sir?"

Nick nodded. "I'm Nick Stokes, with the Crime Lab. Can you get me there?"


	10. Confessions

**Confessions**

Grissom and Catherine sat across from Nick, Gil sitting in his office chair and Catherine leaning on the desk. Nick could feel their questioning gazes, but he ignored them and just held his head in his hands as he leaned forward on his knees.

"Why didn't you come to us?" That was a Catherine question. Grissom didn't voice those obvious things that made you want to shrink into oblivion.

Nick's answer was just a shake of his head.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Are you sure it was them at the park?" That got Nick's attention. He stared at his boss for several moments.

"I was followed by a car, and then at least two men, was caught and put in a strangle hold," he summed up as his voice started to escalate. "So yeah, I'm sure."

"Why, then?" Catherine asked. "Why would they want you alive?"

"Who says they did?" Grissom said. Before Nick could gawk at that, he continued. "What about Paige Landry?"

Nick instantly felt his face flush, and it was Catherine's turn to gawk.

"Don't tell me you—"

"No," Nick said. "Though not like she didn't want to. She's been popping up everywhere, warning me off the investigation."

"She was at the crime scene," Gil pointed out, holding up a photo for the younger CSI to see. Nick nodded somewhat guiltily.

"Yeah."

"You said she's been warning you," Cath said. "Do you think she's part of it?" That was a question begging to be dealt with in his mind. Nick honestly didn't know. She seemed concerned for him, and yet she worked for whatever mysterious group this was, and that group was becoming more and more dangerous to him.

His reluctance to answer must have shown.

"I'll take that as a maybe," Catherine filled in. "What about the tapes?" Nick sighed and shook his head.

"Tampered with—I noticed blood after the fact, but everything during the murder was blanked out," Nick said.

Grissom had that thoughtful look on his face as he rubbed the stubble on is chin. "Did you talk with the employees?"

Nick frowned, and Gil glanced at Catherine.

"Cath, take Warrick and Brass. Ask around, and see what you can find." She got up immediately and left.

Nick was left in his boss's office, still clad in his jogging clothes. He felt absolutely miserable. Somehow he'd gotten himself in this mess, and now he was dragging everyone else into it. Sure, it was comforting he wasn't alone.

But something told him the risks could escalate, as well as the danger.

* * *

"Warrick," Catherine called out. The tall and lean man looked away from the store employee he and Brass were interviewing. Catherine waved a video tape at them. She saw Warrick shoot her a confused look and excuse himself from the questioning.

"What's that?" Warrick asked. She smiled victorious.

"Nick missed a tape last time," she said. "The store manager said Nick only asked for two camera angles. This is a third one."

Warrick quirked an eyebrow up at that. "Cool."

* * *

"You know something that's always bothered me?" Nick suddenly said. Grissom looked up from his computer. Nick had changed clothes in the locker room, but now had sat in Gil's office for awhile now, just thinking while wringing his hands.

"What?" Gil asked, indulging the young CSI.

"The knife wound," Nick filled in. "Paige said it was a mugging that got Patterson killed. But a random mugger doesn't murder."

"Nick, we've seen many cases that disprove that theory," Grissom said. Nick held up a hand and nodded.

"Yeah, but go with me on this," he said. "A mugger might shoot the victim, or stab him—"

"Which was the case here—"

"—but what about the open wound?" Nick asked. "The murderer twisted the knife and _yanked_ it out of the guy's flesh."

Grissom blinked at that graphic description.

"Someone who does that has a lot of experience with knives," Nick said. "And killing too."

Gil frowned. He was afraid he was seeing where this was going.

Suddenly his fish above the door started singing, and sure enough, there stood Catherine and Warrick. Nick quickly got to his feet, swallowing nervously as if he were awaiting the news of an operation.

"We have something you should see."

* * *

The footage played. It was jumpy and very low resolution, but it played.

"The manager said this camera is obscured by trees," Catherine said. "No one really watches it, but hopefully that means someone else missed it." They all held their breath as the time code moved forward, frame by frame.

And it didn't blank out to noise.

Nick felt his breath hitch as Patterson showed up. He stopped his car behind the loading area, and seconds later, another person showed up.

It was a man, dressed in a dark suit and gloves. Nick had no idea what he looked like, but the CSIs just watched.

"What's going on?" someone said. Nick practically jumped. It was Sara.

"Shhh!" he hissed at her, and turned his eyes back to the large screen in front of them. He felt Sara's arm brush against his as she claimed a spot to the show.

The two men talked after shaking hands. They seemed to know each other, and to be on friendly terms. Patterson smiled and laughed at what was said. And suddenly, the other man grabbed Patterson by the shoulder, holding him steady, and then plunged an object into his stomach.

The man gave another push of the knife, and Patterson's body jerked quite visibly. Christian Patterson's face was one of astonishment, and sudden fear.

It went beyond fear. Christian Patterson knew death was inevitable.

The other man flicked his wrist forcefully, and Patterson jerked again. The man pulled away with the knife in hand. He simply let go, and Patterson's body fell.

Not a sound was made in the lab. The five CSIs watched the gruesome crime unfold.

The man pulled out a cell phone, made a 12 second call, and hung up. A minute later, a white van pulled up. It had no license plates. Patterson's body was collected by two other men. One drove off with the body in the van. The other drove Patterson's car. And the murderer calmly drove off, but not before glancing in the direction of the loading dock's cameras.

And that was it.

Warrick stopped the tape. The silence stayed.

Nick wanted to feel satisfied—he had some answers—but it evaded him. Whoever Paige worked for had some involvement with Christian Patterson's death.

But was Paige privy to the premeditation of that murder? She said she loved Patterson, but fed Nick the whole story about the mugger. _It's possible she doesn't know._

He swallowed down a hard lump in his throat. He couldn't be too optimistic. Too many things about Paige were conflicting, and it'd gotten him into a mess already. However, he couldn't just abandon any hope that she didn't know about Patterson's murder.

The phone rang in the lab and it startled everyone. Warrick scowled at it and answered gruffly.

He listened to whoever called, and then nodded. "Yeah, I'll tell him." He hung up and turned to Nick.

"You have a visitor," Warrick said. Nick furrowed his brow, just as the others stared at him. And then, Grissom gasped.

Nick whirled around to see what caused the reaction.

Paige Landry was walking towards them, her face streaked with tears and a crumpled tissue in her hand.


	11. Help Me

**Help** **Me**

She came into the lab and immediately choked back a sob as she ran to Nick. She threw her arms around his neck and let out a cry.

"Oh Nick!"

Well aware of the stares he received, Nick patted the girl tamely on the back.

"Paige, what's going on?" he asked, glancing at Grissom and the others. Gil shook his head, his eyes clouded with suspicion. She just sobbed, and Nick could feel the wet tears soaking through his shirt to his skin. "Paige, tell me."

"Nick, can we talk somewhere?" Her voice was timid, and she glanced at the others watching them.

Grissom cleared his throat, his opinion thereby voiced on the issue.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Nick said, shooting a glance at his supervisor.

"Just out here," Paige said, holding open the lab door to the hallway. She stepped out and motioned for him to follow. Nick nodded, and followed her.

He could hear the whispers and feel the eyes of his friends on him. They were worried, but Nick . . . he wasn't sure if they needed to worry about Paige Landry.

Once they reached the hallway, Paige looked like she was about to fall apart. The people milling around seemed to aggravate that, and she suddenly looked into his eyes with a pitiful expression.

"It's too noisy here," she said. Nick tipped his head up.

"No, it's fine," he countered. Paige shook her head vigorously.

"Please, Nick. Let's just go outside." The lights in his head were starting to flash. He started to shake his head when she struck.

She reached for something concealed under the hem of her shirt, and suddenly pressed it to Nick's neck. He stiffened automatically and held his hands out wide in a gesture of surrender.

"Hey!!" Warrick and the team were in the hallway in a flash, each person going for their gun.

Paige quickly moved behind Nick and tightened her knife arm around his neck. The blade was sharp, too sharp. Nick let out a slight cry as it cut into his skin. She eased up the pressure immediately.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered frantically in his ear. He felt her other hand at his waist, gripping his side and guiding him away from her opposition.

"Let Nick go," Grissom said sternly. He had no gun handy, but the supervisor was rarely one to use such intimidation. The staff of the crime lab seemed to halt; it became unusually quiet, and through the glass walls and doorways, Nick could see a lot of them stopping to see what was going on.

"You're trapped," Warrick said, his gun raised. Nick gulped at that. He and Warrick always kidded each other about aim, yet even when his own life was on the line, he wasn't too certain Warrick wouldn't miss. "You're surrounded by police."

As if to help illustrate that point, several uniformed officers poured into the hallway. The sound of their gun belts and the clicks of their guns just escalated the tension. Nick's chest tightened.

It must have affected Paige too. She seemed to shift behind Nick, and he could feel the blade scraping his skin as she flinched.

"Don't shoot," Grissom ordered to the itching gun bearers. His eyes focused on Nick, and then moved to Paige. "Miss Landry. I think you should know what we've found."

She didn't want to hear anything. Her grip on Nick tightened, and she pressed the tip of the knife to his neck. Nick's breath hitched again. He felt her own breathe by his ear.

"Nick, please!" she hissed. "Leave with me!"

Grissom disregarded her increased physical threat. "We found surveillance footage of who killed Christian Patterson."

The pressure behind the knife suddenly increased again, and Nick stifled a yelp. Again, Paige let up, but not without a disbelieving gasp.

"Nick," she whispered again in his ear. "Everything will be all right, if you just come with me. Please, I know it will be fine."

And then it hit Nick. She really believed it. She couldn't see what trouble she caused him. She didn't know what had happened to him at the park.

She didn't know what happened to her previous lover.

"He's telling the truth," Nick whispered just so she could hear. "I saw the tape. Christian knew his killer, too." Her fingers dug into his side, and he winced.

"No," she said immediately. "That's not possible." Her voice bordered on emotional breakdown and an icy façade. Nick didn't fancy either, not with that knife still at his neck.

"It is," Grissom said. "I can show you the tape. Maybe you could help us ID the killer."

She didn't go for that idea.

"They killed him, Paige," Nick said. He felt her flinch as he used her name. "They tried to kill me too."

"No." Again, her response was immediate. It was denial. "They just want to talk to you." Her hands shook, and the blade trembled at his throat.

"Is that what they told you, Paige?" Grissom asked. "Are they waiting for you and Nick?" Paige didn't answer, and Nick didn't know what to do. He swallowed quickly.

"Paige, please," he said. His voice broke, and he hated that, especially as it triggered burning tears to fill his eyes. "Just watch the tape. You can see for yourself. You can help us figure this all out."

She shook her head, her hair whipping against him. "No." Nick didn't know which question that was to, but it didn't matter. He knew what she meant. It wasn't denial.

Deep down, she already knew the truth.

Suddenly she started moving back, away from the CSIs.

"Stay away!" she yelled in an unnatural shriek. That knife cut into Nick's skin again, and he quickly moved with her as he felt blood trickle down his neck. He saw Grissom raise a hand to the gathered and anxious troops. Part of Nick was grateful for that. He didn't want to get hurt. He himself, or Paige.

_Why do I still care?_ he thought miserably.

Paige led him to the front lobby, and towards the front door.

"Paige, please," Nick said again. "Let go of me." Their pace faltered as if she was considering it.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. Her voice was suddenly chilly and detached.

Despite the officers cautiously trailing them, Paige hugged Nick's body closer to hers. It wasn't sexual, but purely threatening. The police officers halted, especially as Paige kept that knife tightly to Nick's neck.

Nick tilted his head up, trying to ease the pressure, but it wasn't working. He felt the air sting at the cuts already there.

"Nick," he heard her whisper in his ear. She seemed like she was going to say more, but nothing came out. Her lips brushed against his ear, and Nick had to fight the shudder of terror and simultaneous pleasure he felt.

Suddenly she dropped her arm with the knife from around his neck and pushed him forward.

"FREEZE!" At least a dozen people had to have yelled it, but Paige was out the front door before anyone could pull a trigger.

Nick fell on his knees, his hands clawing at his neck. For a moment, he felt like he'd been cut deeper, but it wasn't the knife.

Catherine and Grissom, everyone surrounded him. He heard "Are you all right?" and "Did she hurt you?" but even so, Nick's focus was on the screeching tires of the car outside, escaping with Paige and whoever she worked for.

* * *

He didn't go to the hospital, though Grissom was adamant about it. Nick, though he didn't want to admit it, felt too scared to leave. Not after what just happened.

Brass had every cop in town looking for Paige Landry and the vehicle she escaped in. And Warrick and Sara were searching for the killer on the grocery store surveillance tape.

Nick suspected they wouldn't find anything.

It was several hours later when he was convinced to go home. Brass had four uniformed cops go with him, guarding his home while Nick quickly showered and caught two hours of sleep.

When he awoke, Nick changed into a mock turtleneck. It hid the light bandages at his neck. He felt a bit self-conscious when someone's eyes flickered to it, or when he saw it in a mirror's reflection. It scared him.

He was glad Grissom didn't give him crap when he returned to the lab. But as soon as he settled in the breakroom over a cup of coffee with Catherine, Gil came rushing in.

"We have a case," he said, more to Catherine than Nick. But he went on. "Nick, you may want to come with us."

* * *

"PD got the call," Brass said, briefing the CSIs. The whole team was gathered. "A garbage man found her, lying next to the bin he was about to collect."

It was Paige.

Nick tried to shield out anything he felt as he stared at her lifeless body. Her face held a bruise, but otherwise she seemed unmarred—except for the gunshot wound in her chest. It was centered right over her heart.

Nick swallowed dryly and briefly shut his eyes.

_She's dead._

He knew who killed her. Everyone could at least venture a guess.

Grissom sent Nick home after that. _"We'll process the evidence,"_ he'd said. For once, Nick didn't argue.

* * *

Two police officers sat outside his home, while Nick sat inside. He stared at the television screen, but it wasn't on. He knew that, though he didn't care how it would seem if someone walked in on him.

The image of Paige's body flashed in his mind, and Nick flinched. He also saw her in the lab, replaying her desperation and threats. He saw her kissing him, and could almost feel her lips. . . .

_Do I care that she's dead?_ After all, she had tried to kill him. Or lure him away so. . .

_What? So her employer could kill me?_ Nick knew he didn't know that for sure, but it's what he assumed. A flash of anger went through him as he thought about the real blame in this whole mess. He didn't know who 'they' were or what they did. But they had caused all of this.

They murdered one of their own.

They covered it up and implicated their own to get in jail for some reason.

They pulled strings to free Paige, and then threatened him as Nick got too close.

They killed Paige.

Nick knew she must have been convinced or coerced to get him out of the lab. Maybe she believed that it was her duty. Maybe she believed her employer wasn't doing anything bad.

She was wrong. The morgue held evidence enough of that.

Rage flooded him, and suddenly Nick was on his feet. He wanted to hit something, scream out, fire his weapon, anything for some release of what he felt, but he knew anything he wanted to do would draw in the police guarding him. He ran to his bedroom, and grabbed the mattress off the bed. He flung it upright and started punching it.

His hits knew no pauses. He just continued to beat the mattress. It was everything that deserved justice, everything that wronged him, Christian Patterson, Paige . . .

A half-choked sob escaped his throat, and Nick immediately punished himself by biting his lips and punching harder at the mattress.

His arms started to ache, and his chest hurt from his labored breath. He flung the mattress back on the bed, and watched as it quickly fell crookedly on the box spring. Another sob threatened him, and Nick dove onto the bed, burying his face in the soft mass.

He threw his arms and hands over his head, muffling the sounds of his choked cries. Suddenly, he took a deep breath and just screamed. The tormented sound pierced the mattress, but was lost beyond his room.

Wet tears accompanied his screams, until he finally succumb to exhaustion.


	12. New Dawn

**New** **Dawn**

Brass hung up his phone, a bit miffed at what he'd just heard. Nick dismissed his guards.

He waited for the young CSI to arrive at the lab, then pounced.

"Nick!" The younger man turned around to face the detective. "What are you doing?"

"What?"

Brass rolled his eyes. "Your escort?"

"Oh," Nick said. "I don't think I need them." Brass must have shown his incredulity, because Nick explained himself. "I've been thinking, a lot. I think Paige was left out so we could find her."

"Which doesn't make things less dangerous for you," he pointed out to the CSI. Nick shook his head and pulled Brass aside. They were starting to get an audience.

"No, I think it was a warning," Nick said quietly. "They could have killed her and we could have never known about it. But instead, they leave her _by_ a garbage bin, not inside it."

Brass could see the logic in Nick's thinking, but there was a certain amount of recklessness in it as well. He sighed and ran a hand over his sparse hair.

"I can't force you to keep them around," Brass said. "But be careful."

* * *

Catherine leaned back in her chair, her hands covering her face as she sighed tiredly. Nick watched her for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Hey."

She glanced at him and smiled.

"Hey, Nick," she said. "I just finished running the murderer's picture through the facial recognition scan." From the lack of enthusiasm, Nick guessed it wasn't successful.

"Nothing, huh?" he said. Catherine nodded. "I'm not too surprised."

"You know the case will have to be closed," she said. Nick nodded. He'd known that, and expected it.

"I think that's best."

And he really did.

* * *

From across the hall, Sara looked through Grissom's office window at Nick. He and Catherine were talking, and by all appearances, Nick seemed fine.

"Do you think he's really okay?" she asked over her shoulder, but not taking her eyes off her coworker. She heard Gil grunt from his desk.

"He's softer than he'd like us to believe," he said. "But that will help him face this ordeal."

Sara nodded silently. Her eyes focused on Nick as he left Catherine in the lab. She turned from the glass and faced her boss, who now stared at her. She was struck by how intently he watched her as he made his point.

"He's gotten over worse."

* * *

Part of Nick felt guilty. Paige Landry was being buried today, on the city's dime. He felt like maybe he should help foot the bill, or go pay his respects to Paige. But that didn't seem right either.

No matter what attraction he felt, Nick couldn't justify any action. Paige wasn't . . . there wasn't a connection with her beyond the mystery and misery she'd triggered. She wasn't Kristy, someone he'd grown to care about and for after she died.

He sighed as he turned on the radio in his SUV. Ever since he'd been in Las Vegas, life had thrown some curve balls at him. Nick survived—that's what he did best—but that didn't mean he enjoyed the challenges. He would rather they never happened, especially Kristy's death, the whole Nigel Crane thing, and many others that he didn't want to dwell on now.

An upbeat song came on, some spunky rock with lots of guitar. Nick felt a small smile tug at his lips as he listened and drove.

He stopped at a grocery store and picked up some items. The song replayed in his head, and he found himself humming at the checkout.

Nick continued home. He pulled into his driveway. It was getting hot outside as the afternoon sun shone, and he quickly escaped into his house.

The blinds were closed, which kept the inside cool. He flipped on a light and dropped the grocery bags on the counter. He went over to his coffee table and picked up the remote to his stereo. He felt like listening to more music.

The tunes blared a bit loudly but it was effective at making him stay in a good mood. Nick pulled off his holstered gun from his belt and set it on the coffee table. He went back to the kitchen, grabbed the groceries and started putting them away.

He opened the fridge door for the last couple of items—some orange juice, milk and bottled water. He almost shut the door, but stopped to grab that orange juice. The fridge door shut on its own as he started to guzzle the drink.

Over the music, Nick heard a rustle behind him, like plastic. Suddenly something hit his back, and he lurched forward, dropping the orange juice. It splattered on the floor, and before Nick could react, that plastic he heard covered his head.

He immediately gasped for breath, and struggled against the attacker. He felt the plastic bag tighten around his face, and as he tried to breathe, it just suctioned to his skin. Nick pulled away, trying to shake off the hold. It wasn't working. The attacker hit him in the side, weakening Nick even more.

Nick's mind raced. It was getting harder to move with the lack of air. He quickly jabbed his elbow back at his attacker. He heard the person groan, and Nick felt the grip on the bag give.

He tore it off his head and heaved in a huge breath. He'd never been starved for air like that, and it actually hurt to restore the air to his lungs. Nick knew he should think about getting out of here, but the need to breathe superceded that.

And it gave the attacker time to resume. He slammed into Nick, and the two men tumbled to the floor. Nick rolled the momentum off, trying to gain any advantage. The attacker was dressed in all black, complete with a ski mask. Nick pushed at him, trying to get away. But the attacker was quick. He punched Nick in the stomach and grabbed him by the shirt collar.

Nick felt himself being lifted and thrown across the room. His back slammed into a wall, and all that air seemed to leave him again on impact. Nick slumped to the floor, but braced himself as the attacker quickly came to his side. Nick feebly put up a hand to shield himself, but the man just kicked him in the side.

Nick shrunk away from the pain, but the man just kicked him again. He tried to catch the foot, throw off the kicks, anything, but eventually just managed to roll out of reach. The man dove down on him.

He braced his arms above him, trying to keep the man away. He could feel the strain, the effort the attacker made. And suddenly Nick saw a knife in the man's hand, the blade descending at his throat. Nick kept his hands up, trying to protect himself.

The two men struggled. Nick wiggled his body around, trying to unpin himself and get the knife away. As he did, the knife cut at his hands. He cried out, grimacing as he felt drops of blood fall on him.

_I have to get out of this!_ Nick pushed up with all his might, and when he had an opening, kneed the attacker. The man recoiled some, and Nick quickly pulled away and got to his feet.

The music still blared, some angsty rock song that just intensified what he felt. Nick quickly went for his gun on the coffee table, but he heard a click behind him.

Nick froze even though he was just a foot from the gun.

"Don't move." The attacker's voice was husky and rough. It intimidated Nick enough to obey. "Turn around."

Nick's eyes stayed on the gun for a second, but he turned around. The attacker was built, a hard one to defeat. He was average height, but beyond that Nick couldn't identify anything.

Not that it mattered. He suspected he knew who it was, or who he was associated with. And if Nick was right, he wouldn't survive much longer.

"Why?" It was the only question Nick could think of. The attacker just laughed.

"You had plenty of chances before," the man said. "It's too late for questions." He kept the gun pointed at Nick's head. "On your knees."

Nick gulped as he sank to his knees, while his eyes never left the attacker's masked face.

"If it's any consolation, I'm not going to shoot you," the attacker said. Nick raised an eyebrow.

"Gee, thanks."

The attacker smiled through the mask. "I'd rather it look more accidental. Hands behind your head."

Nick swallowed, and crossed his hands behind his head. The attacker—or assassin, as it seemed—slowly walked to him.

* * *

a/n: This is a shorter chapter, but the next one should be intense, so I thought it'd be good to break it up some. Enjoy!


	13. Fight Night

a/n: Here's a rapid update for you. It's short for a reason, so don't interpret it or my delays in updating as me abandoning this story—I just don't do that (well, I haven't yet anyway). Enjoy!

**Fight Night**

The assassin circled around Nick. It made him nervous, but he figured that's what the assassin wanted. The gun never wavered.

"Why did you kill Paige?" Nick asked, his eyes on the gun. The assassin laughed.

"It's because of questions like that that I'm here."

Nick took a deep breath. It was an effort at composure, but he feared he was failing miserably. He needed something, some advantage. The assassin disappeared behind him.

Nick listened for the movement, honing in on the assassin's position. Moving wasn't smart, but Nick knew he couldn't lie down and wait for death either.

He heard the shuffle of the assassin's shoes against the carpet, directly behind him. Nick went for it.

He lunged backwards, hitting the man's body with the back of his head and hands. Nick heard the gun clatter to the ground, and it fueled him. He turned to face the man as the assassin took action.

He jumped off one foot and kicked the other out at Nick's head. The kick caught him in the jaw, and face-planted him in the carpet. Nick was stunned. _Who _is_ this guy?_ The assassin didn't stop. He didn't seem to need any weapon to kill him.

Nick fended off another kick, but a follow-up punch hit him in the shoulder. It spun him to the side, and opened him up for another onslaught. The assassin grabbed Nick again by the shirt, and yanked him up. Nick's head just ached and spun. He couldn't focus on anything.

The assassin flung Nick into the blaring stereo and entertainment center. His body just shuddered with pain as he hit the furniture. He heard the stereo die on impact, and glass from the entertainment center shatter over him. Various tapes and DVDs fell off, and the TV and DVD player teetered on the edge.

Nick groaned. He moved, trying to get back up. He knew he was too slow. The assassin stood over him, glancing at the large electronics. With a grin, he gave them a shove.

The TV fell, and Nick's eyes widened as he saw it through blurry vision. Immediately, Nick curled up and threw his hands over his head. The TV crashed on him, shattering more glass and breaking hard plastic. He felt the impact on his side by his ribs and shoulder. The glass was like confetti, littering over him in his hair and on his clothes.

Nick lay there, stunned. His side felt numb but yet like it was on fire. He tried to move, but the TV was still on him.

Suddenly it was pulled off, and Nick saw the assassin grinning down at him. He grabbed Nick by the arm and flipped the unresisting CSI on his stomach. Nick grimaced at the force used on him. He felt his hands being restrained by a hard plastic tie, he guessed. The assassin grabbed at his hair next, pulling on it to force Nick to look at him.

"I was going to have you be unconscious for this," he said venomously, "but you've ticked me off." He practically threw Nick's head at the ground as he let go, and the side of his head bounced against the floor. Nick groaned.

The assassin bound Nick's feet too, with the same type of plastic tie. Fear coursed through Nick, but he couldn't move now. Even if he could, he doubted he had the strength or immunity from pain to do so.

He was left alone after that. Throughout his house, he heard the assassin walking around. Whatever he was doing, Nick couldn't guess, but it made him afraid.

He looked around his tossed living room. The assassin pulled out a large jug, a red one---

_Gasoline._ Nick groaned. The assassin started to splash it around.

"Hey," Nick said, trying to get the man's attention. It worked for a moment, but the assassin continued to pour the accelerant around the room. "Please. I got the message with Paige Landry."

The assassin snorted at that. "Maybe it wasn't clear enough to you. That's why I'm here." He approached Nick, and drew a circle around him with the gasoline. Nick watched as a hand dipped into a pocket and pulled out a matchbook. Nick swallowed.

The assassin tore off a match and struck it against the back of the book. He grinned as he held the match up for Nick to see.

"I thought you wanted it to look like an accident," Nick said, his eyes betraying how calm he tried to sound. The assassin shrugged.

"I'm starting to not care."

The match suddenly dropped and Nick gasped. It landed on his pants, by his feet, but by then it was blown out.

If there was one way to go that Nick wanted to avoid, it was fire. Something about it always scared him.

Terrified him, actually. His breathing sky-rocketed now, and the assassin just laughed at the helpless victim in front of him. It angered Nick, what was happening, and that he was being a victim. His father had always taught him to be stronger than that.

The assassin lit another match. And Nick acted.

He kicked his bound feet at the man's ankles. He yelped as he fell, and Nick heard the thick but dull sound of skull on floor.

The man didn't move for a moment, but he was only sluggish. Nick watched as the man gingerly touched the back of his head.

"You . . ." The assassin trailed off as he swore, and Nick began to wiggle away from the man. Though he swaggered a bit, the assassin's fury seemed clear as he stormed over to Nick. He lashed out a kick to Nick's ribs.

Nick closed his eyes to try and lessen the pain. The assassin kicked him again, and again. Nick's ribs cracked—he heard it—and he screamed.

He didn't feel any more attacks, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt just as much. Nick rocked his body back and forth, moaning as he tried to feel some relief. He coughed, and immediately had a coppery taste in his mouth.

The assassin appeared over Nick, that jug of gasoline in hand, and started pouring it on Nick's head. He laughed as the CSI sputtered on the fuel, choking on it. The fumes were strong, and between it and the taste, Nick could hardly breathe.

He finally managed to turn his body so his head faced the floor. The gas continued to fall over him and the rest of his body now.

The assassin dropped the jug, empty. He panted, as if he exerted so much energy doing this to Nick. The matchbook came out again.

He struck a match and leaned over Nick, lowering the match closer and closer to his face.

Nick gulped, and instantly tasted gasoline.

Suddenly the assassin stood up straight and tossed the match across the room. As it flew, Nick stared at it. It flickered and blew out.

The assassin laughed and kicked Nick in the face. Nick grunted as his head whipped to the side. He heard footsteps as his tormentor moved away.

"Goodbye, Nick Stokes," the assassin said. Nick managed to look up as the man lit another match and dropped it. The man quickly left the house as a hissing swoop of ignition took over.

Nick felt the heat instantly. His eyes widened as the bright orange and blue flames rose.

_This can't be happening._


	14. Fire Bomb

a/n: another short chapter, but I think we all need a slight breather. I'm writing still, and will have something up soon for the only two people who seem to be reading this. ;o) Not that I'm bitter about that. Thanks for the reviews!

**Fire** **Bomb**

The flames quickly traveled around the room, following the accelerant wherever possible. Nick looked around himself, trying to stay clear of the paths of gasoline.

Suddenly his eyes stopped on something.

_My phone!_ It lay on the carpet, amid glass and the remnants of the TV. Nick inched his way to it. His hands were still behind him, and he had no idea how he would call, but he didn't want to focus on that yet.

Something shattered, a lamp, as heat devoured it. Nick swallowed and hurried his weary body to the phone.

It was wet, no doubt from gasoline, but Nick prayed it would still work—before the flames reached him and the phone. He nudged the phone with his face, trying to tap out 9-1-1. Instead he got 9 and the call was activated.

Warrick's number was stored in his phone as #9. Nick coughed at the smoke growing in his home, and put his ear close to the phone.

"Hello," he heard his friend say.

"Warrick!" Nick shouted above the noise of the fire. "I'm trapped inside my house. There's fire!"

He could have been a little clearer on everything, but he faintly heard Warrick say something back.

It was cut off by a small explosion in his kitchen. Nick tucked his head down as the noise and force of the explosion rattled his house. A bit of debris fell by him.

Nick coughed again. Pain spread through his chest, but he couldn't prevent the coughs. The smoke thickened each moment. And the fire spread. The orange flames licked at the walls, climbing up them and looking for more fuel.

"Warrick!" He didn't know if the call was still active or not, but desperation was setting in. The fire found a new puddle of gasoline, and it spread quickly towards Nick.

_You have to get out of here. _He didn't dare count on someone coming in time. Yet as he tried to move, he hoped someone would come quickly. His body just hurt too much.

Nick crawled, pulling himself along awkwardly with his shoulders and his bound feet. He tried to push with his hands behind him, but that hurt more because of the cuts on his fingers than it was worth.

_Keep moving!_ If one flame managed to reach him or the fuel covering him . . .

Nick closed his eyes as he moved. It was his effort to shut out the pain and will himself further. The fire hadn't spread to the windows yet, and those were Nick's only options. His paths to the front and side doors were blocked by fire, and Nick wasn't about to crawl through that.

Suddenly a coughing fit hit Nick. The smoke tickled his throat and his lungs just protested with each breath. His ribs didn't like any of it, but Nick couldn't stop it. He heaved and felt his throat grating. He felt something moist pass through his lips as he coughed.

It was blood.

_Not good, man._ He fought to stop coughing but even as he breathed, he felt a damp rumble in his lungs. He tried to stop it . . . breathing hurt too . . .

He started to shut his eyes, and felt his body relax in the intense heat.

_Wake up!!_

Nick coughed again as his eyes shot open. _Can't pass out._ Nick put his mouth to his shoulder, trying to filter air through his shirt. It didn't work well.

He resumed his laborious pace to the windows. They were only feet away, and yet Nick didn't think he'd beat the fire.

The flames roared now. Nick was amazed at how loud a fire could be. His furniture cackled and popped as the heat destroyed it all.

He heard another crack, but felt a rush of air with it. Nick looked at the front door.

It was open, and in its burnt doorway was someone.

"Is anyone here?" he heard the person shout. It was a man, and hopefully a firefighter. Nick choked on his words, but managed to shout back.

"Yes!! Help me!"

It didn't come out nearly as loud as he wanted it to, but the man turned in Nick's direction. A flashlight beam managed to shine past the fire and onto Nick.

"He's alive!" the man yelled over his shoulder. He turned back to Nick, and the wall of fire and debris that lay in the way. "Hang on!"

Suddenly the ceiling caved in, not far from Nick. Dust and ash fluttered throughout the hot room, and Nick's body tensed.

His eyes zeroed in on the ash, praying it wouldn't have sparks that would turn him into a human fireball. He heard a hiss to his side, and the trail he'd made as he crawled suddenly ignited.

Nick screamed. He backed up as fast as he could, ignoring any protests his body made. His eyes watched the trail as it traveled as a flamed glow towards him.

Water suddenly rushed into the room, a strong stream that instantly drenched the trail of fire it aimed at. Nick looked up at the doorway, grateful for the fireman standing there. But he wasn't out of danger yet.

His house was on the brink of utter destruction. And the fire wasn't over yet. Nick kept looking around him, backing up closer to the windows for added safety.

Suddenly the window behind him shattered. Nick felt that rush of air being sucked in as the fire devoured the new life. Nick's heart skipped a beat as he saw the flames come towards the new source.

_No no nonononononono—_

"Sir!"

Nick looked up at the window to see an anxious fireman reaching for him. The man reached in and grabbed Nick by an arm, dragging him backwards towards the window.

He pulled him out, and Nick fought back the cries of pain he desperately wanted to release. Firemen weren't too gentle but then again, they did have flames chasing them.

Another fireman seemed to be there, and helped drag Nick out of the window until he was dropped on the ground. A groan escaped his lips.

The firemen seemed to do a double-take as they noted the restraints on his hands and feet.

"Well, I guess we know this was arson," one of the firemen muttered. The other one sniffed the air.

"He's covered in gasoline."

Nick started to nod, but just winced at the renewed pain in his body.

"Get the paramedics here!" one of the firemen yelled.

* * *

Warrick watched as the fireman broke through the front door. He wanted to go in after him, find Nick and get him out of there. But Warrick knew he couldn't. He knew Nick could be dead already.

"He's alive!"

Warrick nearly jumped at that. The firemen hustled to get Nick out. For some reason, they backed off the front entrance and circled the house. Warrick followed them, at a distance. He watched as they broke through a window.

And suddenly, he saw Nick. He breathed a sigh of relief as his friend emerged.

That relief was short-lived. Warrick could tell from where he stood that Nick was in bad shape.

"Warrick!"

Grissom trotted up to him.

"He's out," Warrick said. Grissom stood by his side and looked on as the firemen called for paramedics.

Grissom swore as he saw Nick's condition. It caught Warrick off-guard—he'd never heard his boss utter such an outburst before. But it was hard not to.

The first thing he saw was Nick's hands and feet. He was tied up. Warrick swallowed that information. It meant the nightmare wasn't over for Nick, still. Next, he saw blood and bruises.

The paramedics came to Nick's side and started to cut the bindings from his hands and feet.

"Come on," Grissom said, walking towards their friend. Warrick quickly followed.

They strained to hear what the paramedics were saying as they got closer, but the medics quickly gave Nick an oxygen mask. Nick coughed into it, turning on his side. And the two CSIs watching froze.

He was coughing up blood.

"—internal bleeding. We have to get him to the hospital, quickly." The paramedics strapped Nick to a stretcher. Grissom and Warrick charged ahead, helping to load their friend in the ambulance.

"Is he all right?" Grissom asked. The paramedics didn't answer, but Warrick saw one shake his head.

"Nick," Warrick said, "hang in there!"


	15. Anxiety

a/n: Thanks for all the reviews—I'll stop complaining about no one reading this. :o)

**Anxiety**

Sara paced the waiting room, nervously chewing at her fingernails. Worse-case scenarios kept popping in her mind, and she almost dreaded each time she saw a doctor go by.

She heard Catherine sigh from a lounge chair.

"Sara, would you sit down, please?" Her tone was less than polite, and Sara got the hint. She sat down by Catherine.

"Do you think he's okay?"

Catherine sighed and brushed her blond hair away from her face. "I don't know. Grissom and Warrick said he looked pretty bad."

"How bad?" Sara started to wring her hands, until she saw the warning look Catherine gave her. Sara leaned back in the chair, temporarily defeated. "I hate waiting."

By the time the doctor did come out to talk with them, Warrick and Grissom arrived. The four CSIs listened solemnly as the doctor listed the injuries.

"Probably the most severe injury was his fractured ribs. One broke completely. On top of that, he was beaten so savagely that he started to bleed from his lungs," the doctor said. Sara gulped as a pit dropped in her stomach. "I'm amazed he could move around at all with these types of injury."

The four CSIs stared at the doctor, unready to high-five each other at such tame optimism. The doctor cleared his throat.

"He's recovering from surgery right now," he went on. "He should pull through, but he has to be kept quiet. There is a danger that the lung may collapse, but we're monitoring him closely."

No one voiced any comment or question. Sara opened her mouth but couldn't bring herself to utter any words. The doctor glanced from face to face of each CSI, giving each a moment.

"Listen, despite his condition, I think Mr. Stokes will be fine," the doctor said. "But you should prepare yourselves. He's going to be sore for long time."

Grissom seemed to find his voice first.

"Do you have his clothes?" he asked, resuming his role as a CSI. The doctor nodded.

"Yes. I assume you want it for evidence," the doctor answered. "We also took photos, documenting Mr. Stokes' condition. I'll get a copy to you."

* * *

"Okay." Grissom cleared his throat, and Greg, Sara, Catherine and Warrick quietly turned to face him. They sat around a cold pizza and various notes.

"What do we have?" Grissom prompted. Warrick jumped in first, albeit pessimistically.

"Not much," Warrick said. "Most of Nick's house is up in smoke, and the evidence with it."

"Yeah, but that may not matter anyway," Catherine interjected. "I found smudged prints on the plastic ties used on Nick's wrists and feet."

"Smudged as in salvageable?" Grissom asked, raising an eyebrow. Catherine shook her head.

"Smudged as in the assailant covered his tracks with gloves." That quieted everyone for a moment, until Greg worked up the courage to put in his two cents.

"Well, the liquid on Nick's clothes is definitely gasoline," the lab tech said. He cringed just thinking about whatever happened to Nick. He didn't even know the whole story, but then again, that's why they were gathered now. "Nothing unusual about it, just your standard gas used at any station in the southwestern United States."

Grissom sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Did the doctor deliver any evidence from Nick?" Sara asked. Gil glanced at her, then at a file he opened reluctantly. He gave it a shove, and a slew of photos fanned out over the table.

The CSIs gasped. The photos were . . . horrifying. As Sara looked at them, she instantly wanted to shut out the sight. The investigator in her made her look, even though her stomach churned.

The 8 x 10 glossy photos showed various parts of Nick. His stomach, his torso, his shoulder, his legs and hip. His face.

Bruises. Some so deep that they spread over several inches of Nick's body.

"Nicky."

It was Catherine who let it slip, and it drove the emotional nail through each of them. Sara gulped back the lump in her throat, and looked up at her boss.

He wasn't even looking. His hands were tucked in his pockets and he looked around the room, out to the hallway, anything to avoid the evidence in the photos. Sara blinked several times, and took a deep breath.

"It seems we don't have much," Sara said as professionally as she could. "No matter the evidence we have, it's not pointing to a suspect."

"Even if it did, I don't think we should pursue him," Greg said. Stunned silence followed as everyone's eyes turned to him. He held up his hands before the verbal lynching could start. "I think we all know who's responsible for this. Maybe we should take them seriously."

"Greg—" Warrick started to object.

"He may be right." It was Catherine's turn to get the scrutiny. She paused before explaining herself. "Nick was ready to give up the investigation into Paige Landry. We hit dead ends there as well."

"Well, if Nick was stopping the investigation, why did they still go after him?" Sara asked.

"Maybe they didn't see it that way," Grissom said. "Maybe Nick stopped too late." He sighed. "Do we have anything else?"

Another round of silence passed.

"I want one of us at the hospital, to stay with Nick," he said. "Brass has two uniforms outside his door, but Nick needs more than protection now."

The group nodded.

"I'll go," Sara said.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was the tube in his mouth. Well, he didn't know it was a tube, but just having in his mouth, halfway lodged in his throat, freaked him out. Nick started to gag.

"Nick! Calm down. Just relax," he heard someone say. "It's not hurting you."

Nick begged to differ on that, but he couldn't really voice his objections with that blasted tube down his throat.

"Nick, I'm going to get the doctor, okay?" He opened his eyes for the first time, and saw it was Grissom. The CSI boss showed a concerned look to him, and quickly left the room.

Nick shut his eyes again. He felt _sore._ His chest especially . . .

"Nick?"

He shifted his head towards the force, but didn't open his eyes.

"I'm Dr. Craven," the voice said again. Nick felt something, right over his eyes. Suddenly a bright light blinded him, and he cringed at the pain it triggered.

"It's okay, Nick," he heard Craven say. The tube scratched in his mouth again, and Nick coughed. Pain exploded in his chest. He felt a hand over his chest, another one at his shoulder, trying to keep him down.

"Nick, calm down," Craven said. "I'm going to remove the tube, okay?" Nick nodded between restraining his coughs. Suddenly, he felt something being yanked from his throat.

Nick coughed again, a sickening garble of friction in his lungs and throat. It hurt, crazy and intense. The fit subsided, but not long before Nick succumb to the exhaustion. As he drifted into unconsciousness, he vaguely heard the fading voices of Dr. Craven and Grissom.

* * *

He woke up again, this time without that tube, and with a little less pain. Nick opened his mouth, stretching his jaw. He scratched at his neck, which was still a bit sore.

"Nick? You okay?"

He opened his eyes to see Sara staring at him. He nodded slightly. "I'm—" He coughed again, and instantly clutched his chest.

"Shhh, it's okay. You don't have to talk," Sara said. He felt her hand on his arm, giving him a gently squeeze of reassurance.

"The doctor said you're healing faster than he thought," she said, her voice a little too sweet. "We were worried."

Nick wanted to talk back, but his throat and chest just hurt too much. Sara didn't seem to mind.

"We've figured that it was, uh, a hit. Probably the same people who killed Paige," Sara said. "We're still working on the evidence, but a lot was destroyed."

Nick's mind flickered to the flames in his home, to the heat that destroyed . . . _my house._ Sadness ran over him. His life was . . . things would change. Nothing would be the same.

And he just might never be safe. He shut his eyes as he continued to listen to Sara rattle off findings and random thoughts.

* * *

Grissom grimaced, his only indication that he wasn't getting anywhere. But it wasn't a surprise to Greg. Everyone knew it. The suspect disappeared, like when Paige was murdered. The evidence was mostly burnt up.

After a week of investigating, it was a dead end, and it angered everyone. No one wanted to give up. Nick deserved justice, closure.

Gil sighed and left Greg's lab. The young technician gave a sigh of his own, and started to tidy his desk.

The Patterson case file and Landry case file were stacked amongst his workload, more for reference than anything else. He opened the first file, not really looking but just for something to do. He opened the next file, closed it—

And opened it back up. He stared at the DNA readout for Paige Landry. He reopened the Patterson file, his eyes flickering to the DNA readout of the sample Paige gave.

He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. He couldn't be seeing this right.

Greg moved the two readouts side by side.

"No way," he muttered as he studied the printouts.

The DNA didn't match.

* * *

another a/n: Sorry--I'm not really pleased with how Nick's condition/injuries turned out. I don't know if I'm explaining it correctly, but hopefully it seemed okay to you all. Thanks!


	16. Disbelief

**Disbelief**

"Paige Landry may not be dead," Grissom said aloud, taking that information in.

"Nick took the sample from the Patterson case himself, so she couldn't have faked that," Greg said.

"And yet her DNA doesn't match the murdered woman, who was supposed to be Paige," Gil said, chewing on his lip. "How did they fake that?"

Greg shrugged. "Do we really want to know?"

* * *

The medical staff kept Nick sedated. He was conscious here and there, but kept in a haze to keep him from damaging his lungs. He didn't like it, but he was always too tired to argue.

Based on the bits he heard from Sara and Warrick, he was healing. It'd been a week already since the fire, and he knew he'd have to stay a bit longer too. He didn't mind that.

He had nowhere to go. Nick exhaled deeply and shut his eyes.

Part of him wondered what the rest of the team was doing. He worried about them; he didn't want them to become targets by investigating this whole thing. But he could only worry so much, and he could do very little beyond staying awake.

Nick's sparse thoughts were interrupted by a friendly nurse.

"Good morning, Mr. Stokes," she said. "How are you feeling today?"

It was the same question every morning. Nick just nodded from his drug-induced stupor.

"We're going to move you to a different room today," she said. "You're well enough that a few more days, you can go home." While she meant that in a chipper way, Nick bet she didn't realize his home had been burnt to the ground.

He nodded again, and fell back asleep.

His sleep was disturbed later by the motion of his bed. Someone was wheeling him and his IV away, probably to that room the cheerful nurse spoke of.

"Oh, I'll take him down," a voice said. He heard the nurse say something, but Nick didn't really focus on it.

He was pushed along. The sterile air whipped by his face, and that's when he realized how fast they were moving. He opened his eyes.

The tiles in the ceiling passed by. Nick rolled his eyes around, trying to glance at the nurse. It wasn't the usual nurse.

In fact, he didn't know who it was, but something about her was familiar . . .

And then it hit him. Nick gasped, drawing the woman's attention. She glanced down at him and smiled.

Nick tried to say something, but felt her clamp a hand over his mouth.

"Shhh," Paige said. "Stay quiet. It'll be all right." She clicked a button attached to his IV, and Nick felt himself give up on staying awake.

* * *

"Gone?!"

Brass nodded. "The two cops . . . well, one went for coffee and the other said he'd meet the nurse and Nick in the room they were moving him to."

"He just disappeared?" Grissom asked, the anger rising in his voice. Brass shook his head.

"No. The nurse said another nurse came along and offered to move him, at Dr. Craven's suggestion," he said. "Of course, neither the nurse or Dr. Craven know who this woman is. But I pulled surveillance."

Grissom held up a hand. "Let me guess. Paige Landry."

Brass nodded. "But there's more I think you should see."

* * *

Catherine stared blankly at the screen, stunned by what she saw. The surveillance footage from the hallway by Nick's room showed two men. Ten minutes after Nick was moved, they suspiciously entered Nick's old room. Three seconds later, they came out, looking very angry.

Catherine followed them throughout the hospital on the footage they had. The men went to Nick's new room, only to emerge with the same disappointment.

"So let me get this straight," Warrick said from behind her. "Paige Landry intercepts Nick during the room transfer, and somehow escapes with Nick from the hospital. Ten minutes later, two goons come in looking for Nick."

"I thought they were on the same side," Sara piped in. "It looks like maybe that's changed."

"Are we saying that Paige . . . intervened on a possible hit on Nick?" Warrick asked. No one wanted to give her that much credit.

But they hoped that. Because Nick was in Paige Landry's grasp.

* * *

Nick woke up in a dim room. As he groggily opened his eyes, he saw a plush arm chair, a richly covered couch, Oriental rugs, and dark walls. He frowned.

_Where am I?_

He tried to sit up, but his ribs screamed against that. He groaned and lay back down. _What am I lying down on? _It was another couch, just as richly covered in red and gold fabric. A fleece blanket covered his hospital-gown clad body. His breathing hitched as panic started to set in.

Nick suddenly saw her.

Paige.

She leaned against a counter by a kitchen area, watching him.

"Hi Nick," she said with a relaxed smile. Nick's heart sped up, thumping so hard in his chest that it hurt. His breathing sky rocketed, which just hurt him even more. He clutched his chest.

_Why is she here? What is she doing?_ He couldn't think straight, and the pain from his injuries just hurt him more and more. Fear just added to the problem.

The last time he'd seen her alive, Paige tried to coax him out of the CSI lab. She'd threatened him. An image of her lifeless body flashed in his mind. _She's dead._

As if she read his train of thought, she said, "I'm not dead." Nick's eyes went to hers. "It wasn't my body."

_Then whose was it?_ He shuddered to think of that.

"How are you feeling?"

Nick felt a rise of anger go through him. _What type of question is that? She lied—she tried to---_

_--and then whoever tried to kill me!_

It was disjointed at best, but he wasn't concerned with that. He must have looked as upset as he felt, because Paige frowned.

"Nick, come on," she said. "Talk to me." She walked to his side, and sat on the edge of his couch. Nick flinched at the close contact, and tried to shrink away into the couch. Paige noticed, and she tired not to show any disappointment. However, her eyes looked mournful, hurt by his reaction.

Nick didn't care.

"Where are we?" His tone wasn't kind—it was a demand. Paige pursed her lips together.

"In a safe place," she answered simply. She had that controlling look on her face, like she knew everything and wasn't going to tell. It frustrated Nick.

He tried to move, tried to get away or lunge at her, but instead, he just cringed at the pain that resulted from his attempt. Paige almost jumped back until she saw his expression. She laid a hand over his chest.

"I'm sorry," Paige said. "I don't have any pain killers. Your IV ran out awhile ago." He glanced at his hand, where the IV used to be inserted, but it'd since been removed. "Do you want something to drink, or eat?"

Nick stared at her.

"Maybe not," she said. She took a deep breath. "Nick, please give me a chance to explain. I brought you here because they were coming after you again."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Like they didn't do a good job on me before."

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry about that. I tried to convince them that it wasn't necessary."

"Wasn't necessary?!" Nick exclaimed. He winced at the sudden outburst's effect on him, but that didn't stop him. "Do you realize that my life was fine before I met you? Then I get drawn into your little game and suddenly have several guys trying to kill me!"

She sighed. "Look, I tried to make it right—"

"When? When you had a knife at my neck at the lab?!"

"No!" She stretched out her hands and gritted her teeth together, as if trying to calm down and control herself. "Nick, please. Give me ten minutes."

Nick didn't want to give her anything, but he didn't have a choice. He didn't know what she was planning, what new trick this was. He didn't nod, but just stared at her to begin.

"I thought they wouldn't hurt you. I thought they just wanted to scare you," she said. Her voice quivered. "And then, I knew how serious they were. So I convinced them to make it seem like I was murdered, like Christian."

"Who they killed also," Nick pointed out. She shot him a look.

"I know that now," she said. "Which explains a lot, if you'll let me continue. Now, after you found the body, my employers were still unconvinced about you." She stopped, and Nick desperately wanted to jump in but he waited.

"I didn't think . . . I don't know what I thought," she said, her voice suddenly softer. "But I didn't expect them to try to kill you." She took a deep breath. "By the time I found out, it was too late. But then I learned you survived! And I knew . . ."

Nick stared at her, even though she was avoiding his gaze. "Knew what?"

"I knew they would try again," she said, finally looking at him. "And I couldn't let that happen. Not to you."

"But they haven't come again," Nick said. And suddenly a thought hit him. He knew why she took him. "They were going to try again. At the hospital."

Paige nodded, relief washing over her face as he seemed to believe her. And he was.

But there still were too many questions.

"Why?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why did you rescue me, when you know how bad they are, and still work with them?"

Paige stood and began pacing the oriental rugs. "I'm on the run. By now they know I helped you. I'm a target as much as you, more so even."

Somehow that wasn't comforting to Nick.

"They won't stop until they find a reason to, and right now they think the only reason to stop is if you die another way," Paige said. Her statement made him think about the severity of it all.

"What about you?" Nick asked. "What am I supposed to think, after everything?"

She sat back down by him, and laid a hand on his arm. "I don't know. But I probably would still be working with them, unaware and unfeeling, if it wasn't for you."


	17. Unaware

a/n: thanks so much for your patience. It's been a very hectic week, but I finally found time to get this out. I'll continue as soon as I can.

**Unaware**

Nick had never been so confused in his life.

He wanted to believe Paige. Really. But past experience told him not to. Or maybe he did believe her.

But he was still in danger, and being near her emphasized how precarious of a situation he was in. Paige Landry. Her name seemed so good-girlish, and yet Nick felt safer with a thousand tigers.

He sighed as he pulled on a pair of pants. Paige had offered to help him get dressed, and even though it might have spared him some pain, Nick wasn't about to get that friendly again with her. He bit his lip to keep back a groan as he went for a shirt.

Nick wondered if he should run. He was alone for the moment, though Paige was waiting just outside the door. He knew Grissom and everyone would know he's gone, and he wondered if they would worry.

_Of course they'd worry!_ Nick's eyes glanced at a phone in the corner of the room. With his eyes on the door, Nick picked up the phone and dialed a number he knew well.

* * *

Catherine watched from one of the labs as Grissom paced around his office. He had that intense look of thought on his face, combined with worry Catherine had never seen so deep in her friend.

It wasn't just concern. Grissom was anxious. He wrung his hands as he paced, and then suddenly stopped wringing his hands as he realized how outwardly frazzled he was acting.

Catherine smiled sadly at him. It was endearing to see that Grissom cared so much about Nick, and probably just as much about any of them. It was just too bad that it took Nick's near assassinations and kidnapping to realize it.

Grissom suddenly stopped pacing as his phone rang. Catherine watched with mild interest as he picked it up.

The next thing she knew, Grissom was almost yelling into the phone.

"Where are you!"

Catherine darted for Gil's office, with Sara on her heels. Gil just listened and stared ahead at nothing.

"Nick, where are you?" Grissom repeated. Catherine felt her heart lurch. She moved for the phone, and hit the speaker button.

"—know, but I'm here with Paige."

It _was_ Nick!

"Nick, are you in any danger?" Grissom asked. Catherine's immediately thought was a resounding 'Yes!!' Nick started to answer when suddenly they all heard a shout in the background.

"Are you crazy?!" Suddenly the phone line was smothered, and Catherine stiffened as she heard a struggle on the other end of the line.

"Nick!" she called out. The line crackled until it died, and then the haunting sound of an empty dial tone filled the room.

Catherine and Grissom stared at each other, and Sara just looked shattered as she stared at the phone.

"No."

Grissom shook his head and swore under his breath.

"We had him!" he shouted to anyone who would hear. Sara fell back into a chair, her eyes never leaving the phone.

"Maybe he'll call back," she whispered with trace amounts of hope. She finally looked to her boss and to Catherine. Catherine couldn't utter a word, but she felt the devastating jolt when Grissom just shook his head.

They had him, and now he was gone.

* * *

Paige stomped on the phone, then proceeded to rip the phone cord from the wall. Her eyes were dark and wide when she looked at him, and Nick felt himself recoil.

"Nick, you can't just make a call," she said as she crunched the phone's remains beneath her shoe. "You'll get us killed."

"How?" Nick managed to say. He clutched at his chest and stepped back, away from Paige. She just closed the distance between them, and grabbed Nick by the shoulders.

"You still don't get it," she said, her tone suddenly low and barely controlled. She kept moving forward, forcing Nick back until the back of his knees hit against the couch. He fell to the cushions, clutching his chest again. "You don't get how powerful they are. They have everyone's phones tapped!"

"I called Grissom's office," Nick responded feebly. "It's a secure facility."

"No, it's not," Paige said. "I got in there, no problems."

The memory of that flashed in his mind, and suddenly Nick felt just as angry and hurt as he did then.

"Yes. How could I forget?" Nick started sarcastically. "You threatened to kill me!" She just rolled her eyes.

"You know my reasons then," she said. "We've been over this."

Nick let out a loud and frustrated sigh.

"No, not really," Nick said. He was tired of the cryptic answers, and even the more clear ones he'd gotten. He was tired of this mess. "Who _are_ you?! One moment you're telling me everything, being vulnerable and sweet, and the next moment you're freaking out!"

She rolled her eyes again and jabbed a finger at his chest. Nick winced and tried not to grunt at all, even though such a small gesture hurt.

"I was a fool to think you'd ever understand," she said. She whirled away from him, and the two of them let a tense silence fill the air.

Nick chewed at his lip for a second. "Look." He paused and ran a hand through his short hair. "I appreciate you . . . intervening, or whatever. But I think we should stay away from each other." As soon as he said it, he felt even more tense. His stomach twisted in knots, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Not just for her to hear, but something he didn't want to happen.

Her anger vanished and was replaced by a sad fear. Something inside Nick tugged at him, told him she didn't care about the danger, didn't care about the inconvenience she'd caused him.

She cared for him, even though it was bizarre and dangerous for them both. And now, she was afraid he really wanted nothing to do with her.

Nick feared he would give into the instinct of survival to leave the disaster in Paige behind. She stared at him, her eyes boring into his.

And then she closed the distance between them again, letting her body collide against his even though it hurt like hell. Nick fell back on the couch, lying down as Paige covered his lips with hers.

As she devoured him, Nick tried not to wince, but the pressure on his chest hurt too much. Finally he pushed her away, gasping out in pain. Paige quickly sat back as a wave of pain went through him. Nick closed his eyes, as if it would help shield him from the pain, but it didn't work.

"Nick, are you okay?"

He just shook his head—anything else would have hurt too much. Nick was too involved in his own pain to sense what Paige was going through.

Or rather, what she noticed.

Paige quickly got to her feet, her ears almost perked up as she listened to the stillness around them. She put a hand over Nick's mouth, and he almost yelled at her.

But her face was stone. She was serious, and ready. Her posture transformed, as did her body language and attitude.

Suddenly she darted across the room and dug something from under an end table. Nick's eyes widened when he saw it was a gun.

And just as she had it cocked and ready to go, someone burst through the window behind Nick.


	18. Take 2

a/n: Thanks for your patience. I've had absolute craziness going on with three jobs right now (freelance stuff, but it really keeps me busy). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.

**Take 2**

Gun fire immediately sprayed the room, sending glass and debris all over the furniture and floor. Nick rolled his sore body off the couch as quickly as possible, just as bullets punctured the cushions. Stuffing and fluff flew in the air from the couch.

Paige launched into action. She dove to the floor, but had her gun up at the gunman.

Or gunmen. She fired off an entire clip, dodging bullets as she managed to bring one man down.

"Nick!" she yelled. He'd been covering his head with his arms, wincing as the bullets exploded in the air. Something about that noise, the shear volume of it, made him freeze. He finally managed to look at her.

Paige fired a shot right by him, and Nick feared the worst. Then he heard a groan behind him.

The second gunmen fell, his eyes wide and staring at Nick. The machine gun in his hand clattered out of his hands, and the dull thud of his body followed as the man came closer to dying.

Nick just stared at the body. The man's lifeless eyes stared back.

"Come on!" Paige pulled at him, getting him to his feet.

The next thing that registered was that they were in a car, speeding away. Nick didn't remember getting into the car.

Paige's eyes flickered back and forth to every mirror. Nick had never seen someone actually use all mirrors so consistently. She changed lanes frequently, and sped through the streets.

Nick couldn't tell where they were. He just sat numbly, staring but not seeing.

The images replayed in his mind, sporadically. Those gunmen, shooting everything. And Paige, reacting . . .

. . . fearlessly.

She hadn't hesitated at all. She shot both of them. There wasn't a second of doubt, or remorse.

She defended him. But it bothered him. Paige Landry . . . he had never seen someone be so _automatic._ She was an icicle—sharp, cold, and as he'd witness, potentially deadly.

He heard Paige curse, and Nick managed to focus on her. Her eyes were on the rearview mirror, and as Nick looked over his shoulder, he saw the reason.

A patrol car followed them, signaling with his lights and siren. Nick glanced at Paige. The car started to slow down, and the cop behind them tailed them.

Suddenly Paige floored the gas pedal, and Nick was throttled back in his seat. The momentum made his stomach churn.

"Paige," he said. He swallowed hard, and just gripped the sides of the seat. Paige didn't seem concerned, even though she should have been.

The police car's sirens wailed loudly, and Nick could hear the engine revving behind them. He had no idea what Paige was doing. Not much was processing for him.

"It could be them," she said. "Or he may recognize you. We have to hide, from everyone right now."

Nick didn't argue or agree. The road felt rough now; the world outside the car spun. His vision just got fuzzier and fuzzier—

Until crunching metal brought him back to focus. The cop car rammed them, and Nick winced at the impact. It sent reverberations to his chest, creating waves of pain.

Paige suddenly swerved the car to the far right lane of a busy road. Nick still wasn't sure where, but he noticed the police car was from Las Vegas.

_Where are we?_ He should be able to figure it out, but all he saw were nondescript things. There was no Strip, no space needle to mark--

The cop car slammed into theirs again. Nick grabbed at his chest, almost trying to hold everything in place. He groaned, and his vision seemed to turn off for a second, then slowly dissolve back in.

"Nick, hold on," he heard Paige warn. Suddenly she slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel so her side of the car faced the oncoming patrol car.

She had her gun, and fired three shots until she heard the loud pop and screech of tires. The patrol car swerved, leaving tread on the road as it barreled towards them. Paige floored the gas, escaping an impending impact.

They sped away, and Nick finally succumbed to painful sleep.

* * *

The décor was very different now. It was dark. And drafty. And woodsy.

It was a cabin, no doubt for the occasional hunters in Nevada. Nick lifted his head from the unfamiliar bed he was on.

No lights were on, but the faint light of day filtered through the windows. Nick had no idea what time it was. He didn't even know what day it was. Was it just yesterday that . . . was it even that long?

Or longer?

His eyes wandered over the one-room cabin and its sparse furnishings. And then he saw Paige. She sat at one of the windows, staring at the outside. In her hands was the gun. Her finger rested over the safety.

Her body was rigid, and her face was stone. But the stone started to crumble. Paige suddenly let out a sob, and then covered her mouth and swallowed. She straightened her posture and stared outside with renewed determination.

But her face became . . . sad. Slowly, Nick saw a glisten of tears in the faint light.

_What is this about?_

Another sob escaped, but this time she didn't banish it. The tears fell and for the first time with Paige, he was seeing real, raw emotion.

This was no charade.

Nick bit down on his tongue and tried to sit up. The awkward bed creaked as he did, drawing a sharp sound of surprise from Paige as she looked to him.

Nick watched as she tried to cover up her tears. She didn't wipe them away, but merely shut down. Her sobs ceased, and the wall rebuilt to contain her emotions.

It was fascinating. She was so robotic in how she controlled them.

_That's how she controls everything. She hides._

_She covers up what she feels, and just does what she has to._

_Why?_

"You've been asleep for awhile," she said matter-of-factly. Nick nodded and leaned against the headboard of the bed. He tried not to pant from the exertion—it was depressing to think that such little movement qualified as exertion to him now.

"Are we safe?" he asked. His eyes flickered to the gun. Paige saw it but just nodded.

"For now," she said. She turned back to the window, her eyes sharp and focused. She seemed sufficiently steeled again, and it bothered Nick.

"How are you doing?" he asked softly. She almost whipped her head around at him, but merely flinched and held her stare outside.

"I'm fine," she said simply. Nick shook his head.

"Paige." She looked at him this time. "How do you do it?" he asked. Paige just raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Do what?"  
Nick took a deep breath. "How do you act like nothing happened?" She just stared at him. "Someone is trying to kill us and you've turned yourself into a statue."

She turned back to the window, a flash of anger in her eyes. But she let out a low breath, and said:

"Practice."

A chill ran down Nick's back. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his chest.

_I'm with a brick wall_.

_She did save me, though._ That had to mean something. He just didn't know what. But he wanted to find out.

"Paige, please. Stop it," he said, shaking his head.

"I don't expect you to understand, Nick," she said, her voice steely. "I never have, even when we first met."

"I can't understand if you don't explain it to me."

"Understand? Explain?!" She glared at him as she left the window and stalked towards him. "Explain what? That I purposely gave up my life for this? That I thought I was doing something good? Doing my duty?"

Nick clutched his chest and pulled on the bed post to get himself to his feet.

"Tell me the whole story," he said. "You keep talking about this without telling me any details." He winced suddenly at a sharp pain. "Please, Paige. I'm trying to get this."

She looked him over for a second, then gently pushed him back to the bed. He sat down, with her beside him. Paige didn't look at him, but she began to talk.

"I started out in the military, just an office job with no excitement," she said. "I'd been through basic training and then was buried in paperwork for 11 months. I'd probably still be there, if I hadn't sought out something else."

She took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her gun, which she clung to without fail.

"I started asking around, hinting that I wanted something more. My superiors just brushed me off. But eventually, I caught wind of something," she said. Her eyes had this far-off look. "I was told it was a division of intelligence. That we'd be doing things that were dangerous, but that would make a difference."

She paused, and Nick jumped in.

"You told me once that you were part of a private group that did whatever was needed."

She glared at him, more for what he implied than the interruption.

"I know," she said. "And that's the truth. But I didn't realize that until I'd been with the company for awhile. We do whatever needs to be done, and that often goes to the private sectors."

Nick's head started to hurt.

"They weren't bad. At least I didn't think so. No matter what I did for them, it seemed like the result would be worth it," she said. "But then I met you. And after I completed my assignment in that prison, and you saw me . . ." She sighed, and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. "I couldn't do it anymore. Not with you at stake."

Something about it . . . about her—Nick didn't understand the connection he felt with her, the danger and emotion and excitement. And he'd never been with someone so closed off. But now, he had never had someone be so open with him before.

It seemed ironic that it was all Paige. And yet it didn't bother him.

Nick suddenly found himself leaning towards her. He hesitated just inches from her face, searching her eyes with his. He saw vulnerability. Nick shut his eyes and kissed her gently.

She responded back, but instead of the normally dominating and devouring kisses she'd given him before, she was more docile. She pressed against his lips, lightly nipped at his lips.

And Nick was astounded by how right it felt.

* * *

"Whoa," Warrick said, surveying the bullet-ridden scene. "Someone shot up this place good." His eyes followed the spray path of what looked like a high-velocity automatic weapon.

Sara frowned at the walls, the ruined furniture and the bodies.

"I don't understand why we're here," she said, setting down her kit. "Day shift should take this."

"I know," Warrick said. "It doesn't feel right taking a case when Nick's missing."

"Especially with that Paige Landry around," Sara mumbled, more to herself than to Warrick.

They sighed in unison, and spread out.

"Neighbors said it sounded like a huge gun fight," Warrick said as they gathered evidence. "They didn't see anything, of course."

Sara grunted in acknowledgment.

Her path around the room made her realize that's where the whole fight took place. All the bullets centered in the room--all the furniture destruction was limited to that room. Her eyes moved along the path of debris.

And stopped. There seemed to be a void, by the couch. Well, there still were debris, glass and wood splinters, but they were much more sparse right by the couch.

She kneeled next to it, just studying it all.

_It's as if someone took cover here._ She dug into her vest and pulled out her tweezers and collection envelopes. Slowly her eyes swept across the area.

And stopped again. This time it was a hair.

It was short and dark. Sara bagged it and moved to collect a shell casing.

* * *

Greg hated processing at times like this. Thankfully, it wasn't often that one of their own was kidnapped or hurt. But lately, when it did happen, it was always to Nick.

The machine beeped, signaling that the results were in on the DNA from the hair from Sara and Warrick's crime scene. Greg hated that they even had a scene that didn't involve Nick.

He sighed and glanced at the results.

Amazingly, the database turned up a hit. Greg's eyes wandered down the page, looking for the name of the hair's owner.

He froze when he read it. He reread it. Twice. Three times.

"It's Nick's hair." Greg suddenly whirled around to face the open hallway. He shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Guys!! I've got something!"


	19. The Now

**The** **Now**

Nick gasped and bolted upright on the bed. Immediately he felt his chest protesting, but he tried to ignore it as he got his bearings.

He'd fallen asleep, and judging by the darkness, it was well into the deepest part of night. Images flashed through his mind, the gun fire and noise and danger he'd seen. He replayed what he saw of the hitmen. Even as he thought about it now, Nick's heart beat quickly, especially as he remembered Paige.

She just took action. She didn't stop a second to be surprised, to be afraid. She had just fired back.

Nick's eyes adjusted to the darkness, enough to see the still form next to him. Paige seemed . . . content. Her eyes were closed gently, not clenched by nightmares as he expected. One hand was beneath her head, comfortably supporting it as a small smile graced her lips.

And that made Nick smile.

She had to be tired. As Nick thought about it, she had been protecting him for the last little while, watching out for him and making sure he was okay.

Granted, he didn't feel totally okay, but he'd get better. He braced a hand against his chest and got to his feet.

Paige had been watching the outside before, with her gun in hand. Nick found the gun now on the floor, no doubt forgotten as they kissed earlier. Part of him wanted to take it, for the security it provided. But as his eyes flickered to Paige, he didn't see the need.

He went to the window and stared out into the night. He saw tiny flashes of light, from small bugs and also the stars. Nick could hear the bugs too, and just the evening wind moving the trees.

It was peaceful, even though the dark made Nick a bit nervous. He didn't like being blind to what may be watching.

He frowned as he stared ahead. He had to do something about this whole thing. Not just for him, either. He wanted to help Paige. She was as much in danger as he was. In his heart, he believed she deserved better. She needed to be out of this.

There was just the question of how.

How do you combat an enemy you can't see? For some reason, _The Predator_ came to mind.

_Be invisible yourself_, Nick thought. _Not just that. Set the trap._

It sounded simple, but he had no idea what he was really up against. The vagueness of the whole situation, especially Paige's employers, made him nervous.

Paige stirred, rolling over on the bed. But she didn't wake, and Nick was glad.

He moved away from the window and to a coffee table. A pad of paper lay there, and Nick quickly wrote a note on it to the CSIs. He knew calling was out now, but he had to get word to them. He didn't want them to worry, or get involved. He didn't want them put in danger.

They deserved better than that.

* * *

Greg was quiet as the others talked about the crime scene. Sara kept trying to find some good in it, some hope, but the rest of them were pretty dismal.

"We didn't find any blood from Nick," Sara said. Catherine shot her a look that made Sara defend her stupid comment. "Well, that's a good sign. He's not any more hurt than before."

"Sara," Warrick said, "Nick's still out there with Paige and almost getting killed."

Grissom cleared his throat. "Based on the scene, it looks like Nick was attacked. Maybe Paige too. Somehow, they survived."

"And maybe fought back," Warrick added. "We found several rounds from machine guns, and 14 from a 9mm. The guns by the two DBs match the majority of the rounds."

"Which means the 9mm rounds most likely came from Paige," Catherine said. Warrick nodded. "So what was Nick doing during all this?"

The CSIs stopped talking as they chewed on that question.

"He's still recovering," Grissom said, wagging a finger in the air. "And Paige took him straight from the hospital. He didn't have a gun, and so probably took cover."

Suddenly their little conference was interrupted, as the receptionist came in with a FedEx package.

"It's for Greg," she said, handing it to the lab tech. Greg blinked, a bit surprised. The label said it was from Landon Biotech.

"Huh," Greg said with a shrug. He quickly opened the package, even though the CSIs were ready to move on. All that was inside was a sheet of paper.

Greg's eyes scanned over it. Then he read it, word for word, before interrupting the conference and putting the letter on the table.

He didn't say a word, but soon each of the team read over it.

_Greg,_

_I thought sending this to you as a lab would get by anyone looking for me. Phones are out, especially after almost being killed. _

_I don't know what to do, other than stop this. Paige isn't what I thought she was. I have to help her, so we all can get past this._

_I don't know how long it'll take, but please be careful. Don't get involved, and tell Grissom, Sara, Warrick, Catherine and Brass the same. _

_These people—whoever is after us—we can't underestimate them anymore._

_Be careful._

_Nick_

There was silence as the message sunk in. Greg couldn't help but feel dejected, maybe even rejected. Nick was all right, it seemed, but he didn't want their help. Nick even acknowledged how much danger he faced, but still. . . .

"Damn," Grissom swore. It drew a look from them all, not because of the irregularity of Grissom to express anything, but because something in his tone told them more.

"What?" Catherine dared to ask.

He shook his head.

"Officially, this ends our investigation," Gil said. Immediately the others started to object, but Gil just spoke over them. "He's no longer a kidnap victim. He's gone now by his own will."

"I'm not just going to let him be out there on his own, with no help from us," Sara said, her voice daring Grissom to say otherwise.

"I'm not saying that," Grissom said. "I plan to help him however I can too, even though it's apparent he doesn't want us in danger. I'm just saying that this is no longer an official case."

"Meaning, we help on our own time," Warrick filled in. Gil nodded, and reached for a stack of files.

"We still have work to do."

* * *

"How are you?" Nick asked her. Paige glanced away from the dirt road that led away from the cabin.

"Fine, thanks," she said. Nick sighed and stared ahead at the road.

"So what's next?" he asked. "I mean, we can't hide forever."

Paige sighed this time. "No, we can't," she said. "But you can stay low until I fix this."

"Gee," Nick started, "it's nice to be included." He hated how things were going already, and so early in the morning. Why did Paige have to be so difficult? She was acting like the heroic but stubborn martyr, and he didn't care for it.

"You're still hurt, and you'll just be a target," she said, her hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Nick rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his smooth dark hair. "Uh, I was a police officer for a few years. It's not like I've never fired a gun."

"At a live person?" she challenged. Nick didn't answer. "This isn't what you think it is. It's not so simple, and it's not easy to kill someone, even if they're after you."

_She's protecting me, even from the dirty work_. He wasn't keen about the idea of dirty work, whether he did it or she did, but he definitely didn't like being coddled.

"Just let me do my part, okay?" he said. Nick sighed out in frustration and crossed his arms.

"Fine." Paige took a deep breath. "Then we're going to the top."

* * *

a/n: Sorry about the delay. I've been . . . well, excuses don't matter. I'll keep writing as I have time. I aim to finish the story relatively soon, so prepare for the end.


	20. Step One

**Step One**

He felt like a spy.

His clothes were dark, and he felt the strangely unfamiliar weight of a gun at his hip. It wasn't that it'd been so long, what with his recovery, that he hadn't had a gun at his side. It was more that now Nick had it as an intimidating and aggressive force—not the backup precaution.

Paige seemed unaffected by their objective. Her weapons (yes, there were more than one) just added to her confidence and steeled her resolve. She too was dressed darkly, even her gloved hands. Her fingers gripped tighter at the steering wheel as she turned the car and stopped outside a skyscraper.

Nick gulped, and stared up at the tall glass structure.

"So this is it," he said to fill the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paige nod.

"You sure you're still up for this?" she asked. Her eyes flickered to his chest. It'd taken them a couple of days to lay low and strategize, and that'd help Nick. But he wasn't as strong as he used to be, and that worried him.

It worried Paige too. But Nick nodded anyway.

"What's the signal again?" he asked.

She simply put her hands on her hips.

* * *

Paige stalked up to the building, not even hesitating at the doors as she charged in with attitude and ego. Nick watched, his chest tight with remnants of pain and anxiety.

He glanced at his watch, and then jogged to a side entrance. As he neared it, he pulled a baseball cap tighter over his head. Surveillance here was not to be underestimated, and even though Paige's strategy wasn't about discretion, he wanted to be a little hidden.

As soon as he was inside, Nick's eyes followed the stairs as they switch-backed up for at least forty floors. Nick tried not to feel weak at the sight of it all.

He trotted up three floors before cutting inside to an elevator. Nick kept his head low, his eyes to the ground.

The elevator rose quickly to the 48th floor. Nick skipped it and rose to the 49th floor, where he got out. He quickly moved left, following a mental schematic.

He hoped Paige was all right.

He also hoped she was just right. About all of this.

* * *

_Two hours later_

"What now?" Catherine asked tiredly of Grissom. No one wanted another case, even though they officially weren't busy otherwise. Sara and Greg sat at the breakroom table next to her, both looking helplessly dejected.

Grissom wasn't thwarted by this.

"Warrick and I just got back from that homicide downtown," he said. In his hands were three surveillance tapes. "I want the three of you to go over these." He went to hand them to Catherine, but stopped mid-air. "You're not going to like what you see."

Something about the warning made Catherine freeze. Beside her, Sara and Greg sat up straight.

"Okay," she answered slowly.

They were all uptight as the videos queued up. The first tape was labeled '48th floor hallway.'

The time code read 8:03 pm, and as it sped past that, the scene remained the same. The hallway was empty, until 8:34 pm.

A lone dark figure emerged from the stairwell. The person, someone with a smaller build, swayed confidently down the hallway. Judging by the long hair, the woman slowed down for a moment, then picked up her pace again.

The three CSIs scooted closer to the big screen display. Greg zoomed in on the woman's face.

"Paige Landry," Sara said aloud.

Paige charged ahead into a large room, disappearing from the camera's view.

"Switch tapes," Catherine barked. Greg scrambled for the next tape. The two left were labeled 'Executive Office lobby' and '49th floor hallway.'

He held them up for Catherine to see.

"Which one?"

* * *

Nick's heart raced as he made his way through the hallway. This floor was different from all the others. Instead of large offices across from the elevators, Nick saw a balcony.

He swallowed and went out on it. There wasn't much room to move around, just enough space for a few tables and chairs. But he was more concerned with the other side of the balcony.

* * *

Something about him . . .

Sara narrowed her eyes at the new figure on the tape of the 49th floor hallway.

"Is that . . ." she trailed off. Greg started to nod as the man stared over the balcony and down at the 48th floor roof.

"The jaw is the same," he said. His eyes never left the screen.

"Nick," Catherine said, and it almost commanded them to just be quiet and watch.

If it was him, Nick suddenly pressed against a corner, as if he were hiding. And then he just waited, his eyes glued to the 48th floor's roof.

"What's he looking at?" Greg asked.

Sara leaned forward. "Grissom mentioned that the scene had a sun roof."

"So Nick's looking down on it," Catherine filled in.

The question they all had now was why.

* * *

He could hear Paige, already in the room, facing Them. He glanced down at them all. Paige and the three other men in the room stood tensely around a large wood conference table.

The room was dim, but even so, Nick could see how on edge Paige was. She shouted something at them, and through the glass sun roof, Nick could understand bits and pieces.

* * *

Sara paused the tape of Nick, and put in the tape of the office lobby. The angle shown wasn't the best, but it showed an open door to the murder scene.

"Match up the time codes," Catherine said. "Play them side by side."

* * *

"You knew what you signed up for."

One of the men facing Paige smirked at her, and something about it made Nick mad. He felt his fist tighten, but he willed himself to just stay still until Paige gave him a signal.

"Yes I did," Paige said. "And I know what actually happened. You tricked me."

The men just scoffed. "You were too eager to care."

Paige glared at them and crossed her arms in front of her. "Maybe be I was then. But not anymore."

"Oh yes," said one of them. Paige probably knew who each was and what role they played, but Nick just leaned closer to the glass to make out all the words. "I think 'not anymore' started with the jail assignment."

"No," Paige quickly interrupted. "It started when you wanted me to kill someone good. Innocent."

The three men looked to one another, looks of disbelief and mockery on their faces. Before they could ridicule her, Paige pressed on.

"You told me reasons why people needed to be eliminated before," she said. "And I believed it all. But I couldn't buy your justification on Nick."

"Oh, it's Nick now?" one chided. "No longer just an assignment, no longer 'Mr. Stokes'?"

"You said you were strictly thinking of the assignment when you said not to eliminate him," another one said. "I guess you lied."

Paige's eyes narrowed dangerously at them all. "You taught me how." She suddenly dropped her hands to her sides, just hanging but stiff. "I want you to leave him alone. Me too."

She waited for some sort of reaction, positive or negative, but the three men just stared at her. And suddenly, they were laughing.

From Nick's view, it wasn't something humorous. The tone was mean, challenging.

And Paige reacted to it.

* * *

Paige had been arguing with a few men. Greg couldn't see who they were or how many, but from that open doorway shown in the surveillance tape, he could tell there were three or four of them. They faced Paige, and judging by Paige's body language, the conversation was escalating.

Greg watched the tapes alongside Sara and Catherine. On another screen, Nick was poised above the sunroof, just waiting. He seemed to jump up as Paige placed her hands on her hips.

Suddenly Nick drew his gun and fired a shot at the sunroof. Paige simultaneously lunged for a concealed weapon and then both screens lit up with gunfire and glass as Nick plunged through the shattered sunroof and down into the room with Paige and the men they faced.

* * *

Looking back on it, it was quite stupid that he, the injured and recovering one, had been sent in to literally crash the party. When Nick landed, he felt jarring impact through his legs and up to his chest. It wasn't even that far, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Nick quickly shook off the glass and staggering he felt. His entrance had provided the distraction Paige needed, the edge to send the enemy off balance, even if just for a second. Nick got to his feet as the men drew weapons of their own.

The shots were loud, and each one made Nick's heart skip a beat. Or maybe they fueled his pace. Adrenaline fed his body strength and reaction time. He whipped around and fired four shots defensively at the men, all the while hearing the echo of Paige's shots.

Two of the men were down, but the third lunged at Nick. He rammed into him, and Nick gasped at the impact. Instinctively, he shut his eyes as they both flew back onto the floor.

* * *

Sara's jaw dropped as Nick and one of the men wrestled on the floor. Her heart rammed against her chest, threatening to explode with the suspense. The man was on top and punched Nick in the stomach.

Sara cringed as Nick recoiled. But Nick didn't give up easily. He pushed against the man, sending him off balanced. And then Paige stepped in.

Catherine almost jumped as Paige fired at the man attacking Nick. The man fell to the floor instantly. He wasn't dead though. His body moved slightly. Nick slowly got to his feet, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock.

The three CSIs stared as Paige stepped closer to the fallen man. A gun hung by her side, almost limply in her hand. She seemed impassive as she straightened her arm and fired.

"No," Sara whispered at the screen.

Nick recoiled and seemed to yell when the shot went off. His eyes were wide as he stared at the now dead man and then at Paige.

She went to him, and helped him steady himself on his feet. Without saying a word, she stalked out the door, leaving Nick to follow. Her gun was clearly visible and in hand as she led the way out.

Nick hesitated before following her. He seemed to look at the man who'd been shot, point-blank. And then slowly, as if defeated himself, Nick left the crime scene.

Catherine stopped the tapes.

No one spoke as they reflected on what they'd seen. No one knew what to say. It seemed like no one knew what to do either.

So they just sat, facing blank TV screens as the images replayed graphically in their minds.

* * *

* * *

a/n: I tried to make this a bit split-viewed, if you couldn't tell. I hope I didn't confuse you all with the switchbacks. Enjoy!


	21. Pause

**Pause**

Nick tried not to jump when Paige grabbed his hand. She was trying to get his attention. It was the fifth time she'd done that.

For some reason, he couldn't concentrate on the next move. Well, the reason wasn't a mystery, though he kept it from her. He kept seeing Paige fire that final shot. The man was already down, and yet she made sure he would never get up again.

Was that the real plan? Nick didn't know if he could kill everyone who was after him, even if it was to protect himself. Had he delivered those fatal shots to the other men? He tried not to shudder.

Part of him screamed that it was wrong—what he did and what Paige did. Even though he knew "they" were basically evil, Nick couldn't . . . murder them. He would rather just be killed, if nothing else than to avoid doing something so inherently wrong.

"Nick," Paige said, again drawing his wandering attention. "You with me?"

He just nodded.

"Okay," she said, turning back to a map. "Since yesterday didn't get us where I thought it would, we have to go to the next level."

Nick wondered how many levels there were.

"We're going after the head of the program," Paige said. "His name is Jamison." She pointed to a dot on a map of New York.

"He's in New York?" Nick asked, finally finding his voice and a bit of focus. Paige nodded.

"There's a building off Broadway. That's where he is." She looked him in the eye. "You ready?"

_No_, Nick thought, but nodded anyway.

* * *

"The three vics were all male, estimated ages for all were between 30-45," Warrick cited off.

"Estimated?" Catherine raised an eyebrow at the guess work.

"No ID," Warrick said. "And amazingly enough, the building lease agent knows nothing about the company, or any of the men."

A weird silence crept into the conversation for a moment, until Grissom poked his head into the room.

"But they did have briefcases," he said. He held up a document in one hand as a victorious smirk started to play on his face. Sara and Catherine glanced at each other, then back at their boss. Suddenly they leaned forward.

Gil put the document on the table. "I don't know what this means, but I do know that it references New York." He pointed to one paragraph.

Sara read it aloud. "'Be advised it's recommended to close the dam and divert water to the city.'" She stopped and looked to Grissom. "And you got New York out of that . . . how?"

Gil frowned and studied the paper closer. His face lit up and he pointed again at the document. "Next paragraph. Sorry."

Sara sighed but read it aloud. "'The broadway will carry better results, with less risk from southwestern rodents. Liberty city presents less exposure to such rodents.'"

Sara, Catherine and Warrick all looked to their boss, questions in their eyes.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said, "but I'm still not seeing it." Warrick nodded with a raised eyebrow.

"Liberty city is New York," Gil said, looking to his stupefied colleagues. "Statue of Liberty?"

The others weren't convinced.

"Well, that narrows it down," Catherine said sarcastically. Grissom sighed.

"Well, I don't know what the rest of this is supposed to mean, but I have a sickening suspicion that 'southwestern rodents' refers to Paige Landry and Nick."

Sara raised her hand. "What does the water thing mean?"

"I'm speculating here. This isn't a word-for-word translation," Grissom said, a little fed up with his team's response. "It could just be gibberish for all I know."

Catherine cleared her throat and tried to hide the amused smile on her face. "So what next?"

Gil took a deep breath.

"Run the victims' face through facial recognition," he said. "If we can get a lead, we'll take it. If nothing turns up, I'm sending Warrick to New York anyway."

The tall CSI nodded. "Got it." Grissom turned to leave the room, but Warrick called out.

"There's just something I need to clarify," he said. Gil turned back as Warrick shuffled his feet and glanced at the floor. Gil waited for something, but Warrick was quiet.

"'Rick?"

He nodded. "Uh, are we . . . are we tracking down Nick because of the murders, or are we helping him?"

Sara and Catherine's heads snapped towards Gil to see his answer. Grissom took another deep breath. Evidently, the same question was on their minds.

"From the surveillance tapes, it looks like Nick and Paige could easily have been the victims themselves," he started slowly. "We know, even if we can't prove it directly, that these men were involved in what's been happening to Nick." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Even if Nick did shoot one of them, I'm calling it self-defense."

* * *

Catherine waited as Travis the lab tech processed the bullets from the . . . "victims." That's how Catherine thought of them.

A clink of metal sounded as Travis dropped a bullet into a dish and placed it under a large scope. She held her breath as Travis leaned and studied the bullet.

"Hmm," the blonde technician said, taking his time. "Take a look." As Catherine did, Travis moved onto another bullet.

"Which vic is this from?" Catherine asked, looking at the first bullet.

"Number 1," Travis said. "It matches Vic #2, the fatal shot, anyway. I've got the point blank shot from Vic #3 too." He frowned into another scope as Catherine looked up. "Hmm."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Let me see." Her chest was tight with anticipation as she grabbed the dish and put two bullets side by side under her scope. Both had striations . . .

. . . and they matched.

She breathed out quickly the tension she felt. "They match." Her relief puzzled Travis.

"And that means . . ."

"It means Paige Landry fired the fatal shots on the victims," Catherine quickly filled in. "We have surveillance that shows Paige killing Vic #3."

Travis started to nod.

"So if the bullet she fired matches the others, she's the primary suspect," he said.

"Not just that," Catherine said, a bit somberly. "It means Nick didn't cross the line."

She hoped Nick didn't do anything to change that.

* * *

a/n: I hope you guys are still liking this. With everything else going on, I feel I'm not getting too creative anymore on this. But let me know if you like it. We're getting there . . .


	22. Step Two

a/n: Hope you like this!

**Step Two**

New York.

Nick wasn't a stranger to big towns. Come on—he lived in Vegas. He grew up in Dallas. City life wasn't anything special or bizarre.

But New York was different.

Maybe it was the smell in some parts. Or the constant sensation of being busy. There was a feel in the air, a 'hurry up or die' type of thing. He instantly didn't care for the city.

The subway rocked back and forth, somewhat violently. But none of the passengers seemed concerned. Nick swallowed and tried to appear unaffected. Paige merely leaned her head back and closed her eyes, as if the shaky ride lulled her to sleep. He almost envied her composure.

But she was a bit _too_ composed. After all, they were headed to face off against the director of Paige's whole screwed up division. Nick wondered if this confrontation would go as badly as the last.

A deafening shriek permeated the air as the subway came to a loud stop. Every time it did that, Nick fought not to jump.

"You okay?"

He hated that question. Paige seemed to ask it too often.

"Yeah," Nick said dryly. She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"It'll be all right," she said. Nick let himself look at her. Her eyes were soft, something he hadn't seen for awhile. Suddenly she leaned into him and kissed him.

The subway started back up, lurching forward and sliding Paige closer to him. Even so, Nick pulled away.

He cleared his throat softly and stared at his shoes.

"There's something I need to know," he said. He heard Paige sigh but shift her body so she could face him. "How is this going to end?"

She raised an eyebrow, but Nick pressed forward. "I mean, really. . . what's going to stop them from coming after us?"

Paige opened her mouth to answer, but didn't say anything. She gave Nick a look, and he knew.

"Oh," he said.

"We have to protect ourselves," she stated in monotone. Nick didn't reply, but studied the dirty subway floor. "Nick."

It was his turn to sigh. He was tired of this. This situation, these choices, Paige, her employer . . . he wanted nothing more than to just disappear.

"Since when is protecting ourselves going out and killing someone?" he said quietly.

The train screeched again to a fierce stop, but for once it didn't make Nick jump. He stared at Paige as she stared back. After a couple of moments, she stood.

"This is our stop."

* * *

Warrick glanced at the file for the hundredth time. It was hard not to—he had nothing else to do until the plane landed. It'd been circling the La Guardia airport for half an hour now.

He checked the file again. The facial recognition scan turned up a lead, thankfully. It was Victim #2, now known as Damon Jacobson. He was ex-military, which worried Warrick a bit. Jacobson had an address in New York. It was a mailing address, somewhere downtown, but it gave the CSIs the lead to send Warrick on. Plus, he'd be in the city, hopefully near Nick.

The seatbelt sign flashed, another reminder to indeed stay seated with the belt securely fastened. Warrick closed the file as the plane turned and descended towards the airport.

* * *

Nick stared at the building, well aware of the sense of déjà vu he had. The street was quiet, with the building just down a block or two from Broadway. Cars honked and passed by on that street, but it was muted from where Nick stood.

He wore nothing stealthy, nothing unusual. Simple jeans hugged his hips and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt and jacket shielded out a slight chilling from the wind. He didn't take a deep breath or build up any extra courage as he walked inside. He almost felt he was on auto-pilot.

The elevator climbed quickly, though in that time, Nick could feel the security cameras studying him. As the elevator doors opened, Nick was greeted by two armed guards.

He assumed they were guards, but they wore no official uniform beyond dark suits. Nick immediately noticed the guns aimed at his torso. Auto-pilot checked off as Nick swallowed hard.

"This way, Mr. Stokes," one of them said. Nick nodded and followed.

The floor was marble, a dark blend that meshed well with the equally dark walls. Even with the lights on, the whole aura was . . . intimidating.

That was probably the point.

It was eerily quiet. Not even the suits' shoes made noise. Nick would have felt like he was in a library if it hadn't been for the guns.

He was led to the end of the hall and through large wood doors. Inside was a spacious office. Actually, it seemed more like an apartment, with different rooms inside of it. Nick went with his escort, weaving back until he saw a single man standing in front of the windows.

He was staring out over the city, not even flinching as Nick was shown in.

"Mr. Stokes," the man said, still not moving though. "You're just in time. Paige is on her way down."

Chills covered Nick's body. The man turned to face Nick, a victorious smirk on his lips. He gestured to the side, where Nick saw a large computer screen, split into sections of surveillance.

Paige was on one. She was on the roof, about to enter the building.

"Don't worry. She'll be here soon," the man said. His voice mocked Nick and the seemingly puny efforts they'd made. Nick clenched his teeth tightly together. His fists closed and opened as he fought the urge to lunge at the man.

The two guards grabbed Nick by the arms as they saw his reaction. Nick immediately struggled, but they overpowered him and put him to his knees. He winced as they held his arms behind his back, pinning them awkwardly and painfully.

"You were stupid to follow her," the man said, taking in Nick's position with some glee.

"You gave me no choice," Nick said heatedly. "You tried to kill me a few times, remember?"

The man's smirk dissolved to a tolerant smile. He clasped his hands in front of him.

"I do." Suddenly, his eyes darted to the large monitor. Nick followed suit, and saw Paige walking down a flight of stairs. The man nodded at his escort, and they quickly moved into action.

They gripped Nick roughly and slipped a thick plastic tie over his hands. As they tightened it, Nick was assailed by déjà vu. His mind flashed him images of his home, when the assassin attacked him and set fire to his house.

Nick gulped as he thought what they had in mind now.

"Look, all we want is to be left alone," Nick said, trying his plea. The man and his security just ignored him. "Please. I'm willing to let everything go, if you'll just leave us alone."

Someone hit him from behind, a decisive crack to the back of his head. Nick groaned and hit the floor. Black and white spots peppered his sight as he blinked hard and tried not to give into the pain.

"Sir," Nick heard somewhere around him. "She's gone."

A brief ray of hope made Nick try to focus on the security monitor. Sure enough, Paige wasn't shown. He sighed, somewhat relieved that she wasn't so blatantly in harm's way.

The lights went out, as did everything electronic. The machines seemed to sigh as they shut off.

The man running the show looked to his guards.

"Find her, quickly." Both left, leaving only the man and Nick.

Nick knew the darkness was a good sign, but that didn't stop the shudder that ran through him. He kept telling himself Paige knew what she was doing. He just wasn't sure if he believed himself.

Someone down the hall yelled. Nick stiffened as gunfire rang out. It was two shots, maybe three.

And then nothing.

The man didn't seem worried. His eyes bore into Nick, staring him down and daring him to think he had a chance at survival. Nick only stared back, all the while hoping Paige would succeed.

As the stare-down continued and the scurrying around the office echoed off the walls, Nick suddenly felt tired. He wanted this to work, somehow. He wanted to be able to go back to Vegas, work a double shift and sleep sparsely as he normally did. He wanted to go home. To be safe.

"Don't move."

Nick turned his head towards the voice, already knowing who it was. Paige stood at the office door, a gun raised and aimed at the man in charge.

"Paige," the man greeted. "Good to see you in such fine health."

"Cut the crap," Paige ordered. Nick could see what was happening. The machine, the robot of Paige was out. She wasn't Paige right now. Nick swallowed. _This is how it has to be._

"I don't know what you're looking for, Paige," the man said. "Maybe it's some sort of happy ending. Some revenge maybe. Or justice."

"You killed Christian," she said, her voice escalating, but her control still in place. The man smiled.

"I can't help it if you were disillusioned by what we do."

Paige's finger tightened over the trigger. The man saw it too, but didn't flinch at all.

Suddenly a shot rang out, and Nick instinctively ducked lower to the ground. He expected the man to fall. Instead, he heard a gurgled cry from Paige.

His eyes widened.

"No," he whispered as she fell to her knees. Her eyes wandered over to him, and the machine was gone. Her eyes pleaded for something, so sad and full of agony. Paige fell forward, almost on her beautiful face, as a last breath escaped her lips.

"Nick . . ."

He stared at her, but she was gone.

His heart sped up, and Nick fought back a rising lump in his throat. He swallowed, his throat and mouth dry as it hit him.

Paige was dead.

Nick tore his eyes away from her body, up at the doorway to see one of the suits who had fired.

Oddly, there wasn't a smirk or any satisfaction on his face.

Nick looked over to the man, the author of all the misery in Nick's life. He looked away from Paige's body too, and stared at Nick.

"Now, Mr. Stokes," the man said, "I think it's time we dealt with you."


	23. Findings

**Findings**

Nick almost shut his eyes, anticipating a bullet, but the man in him made him face his fate.

The man and his guard stood in front of him, just watching him. Nick tried not to squirm. But the guard moved, only to holster his gun. Nick furrowed his brow.

_No gun? That just means they have another way to kill me._

"Mr. Stokes," the man said. It dawned on Nick that he had no idea who this man really was, beyond one of Paige's bosses. She'd never told him his name, or even the name of their group. "I trust you'll go back to your life. I don't expect to see you ever again."

He nodded at his guard, and Nick was grabbed around his upper arm and dragged out of the office.

"Wait!" Nick said. "What about Paige?" He didn't think he was out of danger yet, even though . . . _isn't that what he said? Are they letting me go?_

"Paige is dead, Mr. Stokes," the man said, following as his guard dragged Nick down the hall. "Let it go."

"Why me?" Nick asked. He winced at the force with which the guard was dragging him. He had to know though. They'd chased him, tried to kill him, and now, suddenly they were letting him go?

_He's lying._

The man didn't answer until Nick shouted the question again.

"This wasn't about you, Nick," the man said. "I consider you an unfortunate byproduct of collateral damage."

"Why let me go after you tried killing me?" _Stop asking questions, Nick!_ The logical side of his brain was pushed to the background though.

The man smiled. Again, it wasn't victory. It wasn't mean. It was sad, almost mournful.

"Because you really have nothing," the man answered. "Have a nice life, Mr. Stokes."

Suddenly the guard dragging him stopped, and just let Nick rest against the floor. Nick couldn't help but still be afraid.

It didn't matter. They were outside the elevators, and as the man stepped inside of one, the guard turned back to Nick and knocked him out.

* * *

Warrick looked up at the directory for the building, searching for anything that seemed like it would fit. He couldn't find any names that worked, but the suite number that matched the file's info was here.

Warrick frowned. That suite number didn't have any name by it. It was late, but the building security guard, a simple rent-a-cop, waved him on when he saw his badge. Warrick was just glad the guy didn't look closer to see Las Vegas PD, instead of New York.

He didn't know what to look for. Not that that was new—how many times on a case do you just go and see what jumps out at you? But this wasn't a case. Not a normal one, anyway.

Not when it involved a friend.

Warrick frowned as the elevator climbed, beeping as it passed every floor. It was starting to annoy him.

The elevator slowed and beeped with its final arrival. Warrick stepped out and blinked in the darkness. The power seemed to be off up here. Granted, the floor was vacant, but still.

It was a nice area. Marble, expensive fixtures . . . just empty, though.

Warrick pulled out his flashlight and started down the hall one way.

The beam of the flashlight revealed . . . nothing. The level seemed completely empty. Warrick sensed a dead end. He sighed and turned around.

"What the . . ." Down the hall, something was on the floor. Warrick squinted his eyes, and walked back the way he'd come. But as he got closer, Warrick felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was Nick.

He quickly went to Nick's side, noting with dread that his hands were bound behind his back.

"Nick!" He felt at his friend's neck. Nick groaned as soon as he was touched. Warrick breathed in relief.

His head look like it'd sustained a hit. Blood crusted around his temple. But otherwise, Nick looked okay.

Warrick immediately went to work on the plastic tie around Nick's hands. It was tight, cutting into Nick's skin. He tugged at it, but it wouldn't give so easily.

"Hang on, Nick," he said. His friend just groaned in response. "Talk to me, man. You okay?"

Nick nodded his head slowly.

"They killed her," he whispered. Warrick froze momentarily before digging in his pockets for a Leatherman.

"Paige Landry?" Warrick clarified. Nick nodded again. He winced as Warrick cut off the restraints. "Where?"

"The office," Nick said vaguely. Warrick helped him sit up, and Nick instantly went for the bump on his head. He rubbed it gingerly. "She's over there."

Warrick noted Nick's tone. Aside from being groggy and in pain, Nick sounded . . . despondent. He tried to steady himself as Warrick went towards the room Nick indicated.

He braced himself as he entered the room.

It was empty. Warrick frowned and made a round through the room. Nothing, no blood stain, no body, no furniture. Just ripped up carpet.

"Ah, Nick?" Warrick called. He turned back to see him stumbling towards the room. He almost tripped, but Warrick caught him. "Whoa, man, you okay?"

Nick just nodded. He peered into the room, his body tense as he expected to see—

"What?" Nick whispered, aghast. "She was in here." Nick's jaw dropped, trying to figure this out.

Warrick glanced at the ripped carpet. "Was the floor like this before?"

Nick frowned.

"No," he whispered. Suddenly he shut his eyes and just leaned against the door frame. "The carpet was perfect. They must have done this." His eyes fell on a certain spot, now bare and showing the wood floorboards beneath it. "That's where she was."

Warrick studied the area. It looked like someone had cut through the carpet and taken any blood evidence with them. The rest of the carpet must have ripped to make the spot "blend in" more.

"It's gone, man." Warrick looked to Nick, who just seemed stunned. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

* * *

"Yeah, he's got a few bumps and bruises, but he'll live," Warrick said into the phone. Nick could hear Grissom on the other end, his voice now an electronic buzz through the phone. "Yeah, we'll be on the next flight back."

Nick grimaced at a pain in his chest. He cradled it with his arms, hugging himself and trying to will the discomfort away. Warrick hung up his phone as they both descended into a subway station.

"How're you feeling?" Warrick asked, shooting his friend a side-ways glance.

Nick chewed on the question. _How do I feel?_

_Paige is dead. Death just passed me over. I've had the worse time of my life. And I have nothing good to show for it._

He settled on just nodding.

The subway trains shrieked again as they braked. Nick tried to tune it out as they stepped on a train.

He could tell Warrick was staring at him. He was concerned, and while Nick appreciated that, he didn't want the attention. Nick leaned his head back against the swaying train and shut his eyes.

He was still like that when he decided to speak. He almost felt Warrick jump next to him as he did.

"We're closing this, aren't we?" Nick asked. He opened his eyes to see Warrick nod.

"Yeah."

Nick sighed. "He was right."

Warrick raised an eyebrow at that. "Who?"

"I don't know," Nick said, with a hurtful laugh. "The main guy. He told me. He said I had nothing. Nothing to go on." He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's why he didn't kill me."

Nick covered his face with his hands and groaned.

"I've made a mess of everything, haven't I?" he said. Warrick gave up a sigh of his own.

"It wasn't your fault, man."

"Did you find anything about the building? A lease or anything?" Nick looked hopeful, in a tormented way.

"No," Warrick said. "Even if it did, would you want to keep at it?"

Nick froze as he thought about it. Slowly, he shook his head. "No." He sighed heavily and shut his eyes.

As the train screeched to a halt, Nick saw in his mind the woman who had taken him through this rollercoaster. He felt a pang in his chest as he pictured her.

_Paige._

* * *

a/n: enjoy!


	24. Dealing

**Dealing**

The triple homicide that Nick witnessed—and technically was involved in—didn't lead to any formal charges. He was relieved to find out when he got back to Vegas that the evidence showed he hadn't fired any fatal shots. That, and he was sort of protecting himself.

However, Ecklie didn't seem satisfied with that. He pushed for charges against Nick, regardless of the constant assassination attempts and attacks.

So instead of formal charges, Nick was suspended for two weeks, with no pay. Something about possibly obstructing justice, or not coming to proper authorities. Whatever.

It outraged Catherine, Warrick, Greg and Sara. Grissom even put up a fight about it.

But Nick didn't care. He wanted to get away.

He didn't really have anywhere to live until the insurance people got his house rebuilt, or bought him a new one. He was half-hearted in setting his life back up. Things weren't the same. Maybe it showed too.

"Hey Nick!" Warrick called from down the hall. Nick stopped, his hands holding a bag with some things to take along for the next few weeks.

"Yeah?" Nick said. Warrick jogged to him.

"You okay? I mean, with this whole thing?" It was hard for them to believe. Nick had as fiery a temper as any of them, but Nick just didn't care this time. He nodded to his friend.

"I'll be fine."

A strained silence sat between them. Nick glanced towards the exit, then back at Warrick.

"See you later," Nick said.

* * *

He checked into a hotel on the Strip. It was somewhat pricy, but the insurance company was covering it anyway. 

Nick wandered through the lobby and into the casinos. The noisy _chings_ and chatter of gambling patrons filled the floor. Nick found himself just walking aimlessly, weaving between slot machines and roulette tables.

His mind was as blank as the nonexistent expression on his face. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, and didn't even bother with bringing his cell phone or wallet. He didn't need them.

He didn't even know what he was going to do.

It did dawn on him that he should be upset. After all, he hadn't asked to be the target of some shadowy organization's murderous deeds. He hadn't asked for Paige Landry to intrigue him with lies, danger or beauty. But he had done what was needed.

Nick kept telling himself that.

He had his life back now, right?

He'd found his way up to the roof. It was easy, and surprisingly not hard to access. Then again, Nick had been in his share of hotels, roofs, casino floors and pools. Some case or another had brought them into play. The Vegas air was warmer than usual for the time of year, but Nick didn't mind it. He didn't really feel it.

The lights of the Strip danced over his eyes. They blinked, twinkled and enchanted visitors. For Nick, they provided some sort of distraction, maybe even comfort.

He was avoiding the issue.

He knew it. Every time someone said her name, Nick flinched. Wasn't that enough to tell him he might have cared?   
_Paige._

For all her faults, she . . .

_What?!_ _It's not like I loved her! It's not like I was lost without her._ Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew that wasn't always true. He'd needed her before, thought about her, dreamt about her, even lost sleep over her. His mind flashed him the feel of her lips. The fervor of her kisses. The mystery and fascination she exuded.

_She's gone_.

He knew that, and he told his mind as much. He told his heart too.

Nick had never felt such turmoil before. Leaving Texas, changing careers, leaving his family—those seemed like walks in the park compared to this.

_What do you have to complain about? You're alive. They let you go._ He nodded to himself. He _was_ glad about that. Things weren't over for him—he still had the rest of his life ahead of him.

Nick leaned on some safety railing on the roof. He sighed as he took in those Vegas lights.

The fountain at the Bellagio was running a show. Faintly, he could hear the tune. It sounded like Sarah Brightman, and . . . _what's his name?_ Andrea Bocelli.

_Time to say goodbye._

Slowly, Nick felt a small smile reach his lips. His eyes looked to the sky.

_Time to say goodbye_.

Nick shut his eyes for a moment, just listening to the fading strains of the song. Then, with a deep breath, Nick opened his eyes and turned for the stairwell.

Yes, it was time.

* * *

a/n: Yes, that is the end. Don't hate me--it's not all flowers and roses and lollipops, but I hope you've found closure in it. And believe it or not, I'm silly enough to be starting another story, so check it out from my profile in a bit.


End file.
